Revenge of the Sea Dragon

Back from four days on the Jersey shore. I have muddled emotions towards the beach. As much as I hated that line from Attack of the Clones, sand really does get everywhere. We were attacked by flies in a scene right out of a cheap horror film, and while attempting to bodysurf the waves, I got flipped over by mother nature, straining my back in the process. To top it off, Susan has a relentless fixation on a little ride called the Sea Dragon at a small L.B.I. amusement park, and needs to ride it once every time we visit. I'm a huge fan of roller coasters, but I tend to get freaked out by the smaller rides found at small town parks or traveling carnivals. I imagine the pimply faced ride operator leaving us on the ride for way too long, either out of neglect of a malicious spirit (this actually happened to us at the Meadowlands when a clearly drunk German teenager left us on the Music Express for upwards of ten or fifteen minutes, laughing and dancing maniacally the entire time), or I envision the under-inspected ride simply breaking apart, launching me towards a messy ending. Hell, if it happened at Disney, it can happen anywhere.

What usually happens is that I encourage Susan to put off the Sea Dragon for as long as possible, but as a result I'm faced with a low-level but constant dread during the entire vacation. We finally went on it last night, and of course it was fine. The guy in front of me seemed more freaked out than I did, and other anxious individuals are always a good antidote for my own anxiety. My demeanor immediately improved once we got off the thing. We've since made an agreement that in the future, the Sea Dragon will be the first thing we do the minute we set foot on the island.