Today, I decided to take Aitch to the beach as a little reward for both of us. For me, a maiden run with the new jogging stroller, followed by play-time in the sand for Aitch.

On the turnpike on the way to the island, just beyond the abandoned cabin with the “No Evacuation Possible” banner and “Got KI?” notice, there was an electronic sign with scrolling text. Imagine the little frisson of excitement when I caught sight of this announcement:

“Shark alert!”

I slowed down to see the next text stream, eager for clarification.

“Construction on Northern Boulevard September 9 … “

Not very helpful.

The wildlife refuge had a bit more information: “Sharks spotted between Lot 1 and Lot 3 beaches today.”

I approached the Lot 3 beach expecting a scene out of Jaws, with all the townspeople gathered around debating the economic ramifications of closing the beaches and preparing their fishing boats for a little shark hunting. Instead I found a calm, virtually deserted beach with nary a specimen of fauna in sight.

Then a fellow beachgoer told me, “Someone thought they spotted a bunch of basking sharks, but we haven’t seen anything.” Apparently basking sharks are impressive-looking, but hardly blood-thirsty man-eaters, which would explain the mild response.

What does it say about your state of mind when you’re slightly disappointed that your beautiful day at the beach was not enlivened by a vicious shark attack? Is this what the Germans would call Sharkenfreude?