Cold Feet

I’m not afraid of boats, or oceanfronts, or pools but water deeper than 7 feet frightens me. Scares the ever-living shit out of me. I’m not talking like I can’t see the bottom so I don’t know what’s lurking there rational kind of fear. I’m talking like if someone threw me into the middle of a lake I would immediately go comatose and drown. Most people don’t know this about me because throughout my childhood my father inadvertently ingrained the concept that having weaknesses makes you a pussy. Therefore I refuse to admit fears until I’m clinging to Chad, hyperventilating in the middle of the Sea of Cortez. Not that that happened I’m just using it as an example.

Ok, maybe it did happen. My insane fear may be contributed to the fact that my dad and I have exactly the same personality and when in a collaborative environment they clash. I'm sure I've slanted this, and he vehemently denies it, but Kimmy’s first swimming lesson didn’t go well. And as I’m a stubborn brat that can’t except failure, I quit after like a day of learning and just adapted to a brokeass style that would never suffice combined with my freakouts if left at sea. And by sea, I mean 20 feet from the shore. When Chad’s parents signed us up for an all-day booze cruise snorkeling adventure in Cabo, I felt obligated and trapped, so instead of protesting I just shut the fuck up and started drinking profusely to undermine and quell the stomach agonizing fear I had at the thought of jumping into the middle of the stupid fucking ocean to look at some stupid fucking fish in stupid fucking mexico with a bunch of stupid fucking tourists. I pride myself on the fact that I’ll try anything once though, so I decided to get on the boat and at least venture out. Worse comes to worse I’d just get drunk and admire the stupid fucking view.

I started having breathing, racing heartbeat problems about mid-ocean when they handed out our snorkeling equipment. Being quite bulky I placed it on the deck seconds before a tsunami-sized wave assaulted us, claiming my mask and fins as a consultation prize. The 20 other cruise members still had theirs. I considered it an omen. On a hysterical note, Chad lost one of his sandals and had to walk about a half mile through some barrios without one on the way back. I did the crazy laugh and some Brazilian pharmaceutical tycoons became my friends, instilling some confidence that I wouldn’t drown. I did a few tequila shots, Chad pulled his “Relax, it'll be fine, I was a lifeguard for three years” spiel and eventually, I went in and promptly had three legit panic attacks. But, I still did it.

Why am I talking about this you wonder. Meet Belize:



It's 450 deep. I'm deadmeat.