I went back through my blog to see all the times I’ve yammered on about how much I love Shark Week and how it’s my favorite thing and I wait all summer — year really — for this week then act like a hermit and sit in my house and stare at the TV for two hours every night so excited and scared I don’t know what to do with myself, but as it turns out, I’ve never before mentioned it on my blog? I don’t know how this can be.

Shark Week began in 1987, a mere year after my birth. I’ve been watching it since my sister and I used to wear matching outfits in different colors, which probably means about the fourth grade, which if you’re doing the math was the summer of 1996. I was ten.

When we were little we used to swim on the Martha’s Vineyard beaches where Jaws was shot. When we swam in the Sound, we convinced ourselves there were only nurse sharks, or baby lemon sharks, nothing to be afraid of. When I moved to the Pacific, I had to carefully remind myself that great white sharks don’t attack often. (Although after last night’s information, I might be changing my view.)

When I went to China for the Olympics I made sure to have somewhere DVR Shark Week, which I missed being abroad. I have yet to miss a Shark Week, making sure to watch every new episode at least once, and usually rewatching them each season when they’re on.

My sister and I have spent extensive time discussing which Shark is the most dangerous. Tiger? Bull? White? I vote bull sharks, those crazies can swim in fresh water. No one, not even in rivers, is safe, my friends.

It’s my favorite thing about summer. It’s my favorite programming all year. It’s like the best NatGeo of the year rolled into a week. I urge you to join me.