Anyway, one fateful trip, while my mom and daughter were hanging out, the weather had grown warm enough for me to venture into the ocean. I dipped my toe in the water. Kinda cold, but I wasn't going to let that deter me. After all, it gave me bragging rights back home for swimming in Winter.
However...and this is a HUGE however...I had been made painfully aware that Daytona Beach had a jellyfish problem that year.
"Be careful in the ocean, Stuart," my mom had warned me. "The jellyfish are bad this year."
"Jellyfish? Ha!" I scoffed. "What's the chances of one getting me? C'mon! I mean, yeah, they're gross with their translucent umbrella heads and hanging tendrils and itty bitty brains that you can see and all, but how could a mass of jello hurt a man?"
"No," said Mom, "their bite can kill you. I'm just saying..." And she did say it, all the while shaking her head in that manner she had.
But she was just being Mom, no problem for me. Stupid, stupid, way stupid me.
But it was a gorgeous day! Surf's up! Cowabunga! Where the hell's Moon Doggy and Frankie and Annette?
I went running down the beach like an out-of-control, out-of-shape maniac while kids and teens spread in my insane wake.
Splash!
Ahhhh. Hmm, I thought, damn cold now that I think of it. But I lingered on, a man on a mission.
Suddenly, I felt this sharp sting on my ankle. Holy crap! I looked around and saw something swimming away, but couldn't make out what it was in the water. But I knew, oh yes I KNEW, it was a jellyfish.
First I was in shock. Then the pain started spreading, the poisonous venom traveling through the highway of my body. I trudged out of the ocean, ready to drop dead at any instant.
Apparently I'd been in the water longer than I thought as the beach had cleared out. All but one boy building a sand castle.
"Hi," I said, trying not to act like stranger danger. "What happens when you get stung by a jellyfish?" I asked this as calmly as I could, thinking it was a perfectly fine question for a grown man to ask a young boy on the beach.
After finishing building his latest parapet, the kid calmly said, "You die." And not once did he take his eyes off his sand project, the little son of Satan with his cold, dead voice! Couldn't he see I only had minutes to live?
Then like an inspirational bolt of lightning, I remembered something. Somewhere I had read that if you're stung by a jellyfish, get someone to pee on the wound.
I was caught in a real dilemma. On the one hand I was near death, nailed by a stupid jellyfish with its stinging cells it uses to fight off predators. On the other hand, I might appear as a predator, asking a young boy to pee on my leg.
Decisions.
Death won out. I thought of what my daughter would think if I got busted for lewd behavior or worse. Better to face an agonizing death by jellyfish then wind up the most unpopular guy in prison.
I stumbled up the beach, made it across the highway, and back to my mom's apartment. The sting had subsided a bit. No longer did I feel its mighty, stupid power coursing through my veins. Sure there was a mad welt on my leg, but I'd take it. After all, I had looked death in the eyes of a jellyfish (wait...they don't have eyes, do they?) and beat it!
But I stayed land-locked the rest of the trip.
While we're on the topic of predators, in my book, Corporate Wolf, there appears to be a werewolf picking off various corporate raiders and go-getters. Some might say "no loss," but hey the fun's in the trip, right? Check it out on Amazon here. I understand it makes a great stocking stuffer (as long as your loved one has damn big feet).
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