Water, it’s always about water, isn’t it? Too much, too little, too deep…hell, too damn wet. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t like water, I do. I mean, I drink it, I wash my face in it, I even like to watch it puddle up in the street on a rainy afternoon while sitting on the porch swing sipping iced tea. No, the problem I have with water is that it scares me. I read somewhere that a person can drown in only a teaspoon of the stuff. That doesn’t seem right. I know it didn’t take much more than that to almost drown me, back when I was six-years old. I had eaten a peanut butter sandwich, a bag of chips and half a corndog, and then went swimming without waiting the mandatory thirty minutes before going back in. A lifeguard pulled me out. I was all cramped up, purple and sworn to Jesus (well, the cramped up and purple part is true anyway).