There’s a bit of a segue before I get to the ultimate point of this entry, and that point is that I hate dolphins, but before I get there, let me explain where this one is coming from, okay?
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about interior decorating lately due to my getting my own place. One of the things I’ve noticed is that in local stores here, there’s a definite lack of beach-themed items. This is fine with me, because I’m going for a Western-look, but I never realized how the aisles of Pottery Barn in Florida were littered with seashells, seaglass, and sand-dollars. We were about an hour inland but this made no difference to the inventory buyers, who gleefully flooded our stores with dishes, home goods, and materials reminiscent of a beach cottage. Shelves bowed with the weight of polished conch shells, fake fisherman “nets” to hang in the corners of rooms, and paintings of dolphins playing in the surf.
And therein lies my segue: dolphins.
You’re supposed to love dolphins. Girls and dolphins go together like dudebros and Axe Body Spray; we’re supposed to carry around Lisa Frank notebooks covered in purple porpoises and talk about that time that you swam with a pod off the coast and how it was sooooo magical, like, it was almost a religious experience.
I say I hate dolphins. I don’t actually hate them; I don’t hate any animal. I have a phobia of dolphins. However, over the years, I’ve had so many people laugh at me for my phobia (or flat-out disbelieve it) that it’s easier to just go on the offensive and say I hate them.
There is nothing I can see on a dolphin that’s remotely attractive or cute. Certainly not their round little eyes, bulging like a crab’s. Not their rubbery, squishy skin, nor that neat little row of teeth. Their chipper little squeals remind me of nothing more than murderous alien creatures in a horror movie that hasn’t been filmed yet, but it’s starring me, and it doesn’t end happily. Dolphins scare me. They’re crazy-smart, they’re powerful in the water and because of their cutesy reputation, people forget that. You need only google to see what they’re capable of, accidental or otherwise (for example, this site loves dolphins, but their facts are 100% accurate). I cannot stress more strongly that I don’t want to “swim with the dolphins”. Can I please “play with the traffic” instead? Dolphins remind me of like… a person-dog in a hot dog body: they’ve got the dog’s enthusiasm and seeming friendliness, and like a person, they’ll turn on you and eventually gang-rape you until you starve to death (which has been DOCUMENTED AS HAVING HAPPENED IN NATURE by the way). I’m not big on whales either, for the record, for a different reason entirely: if a creature is so immense that it can accidentally take me out with a fart, I’m not havin’ it.
I’m not a scaredy-cat. Spiders don’t bother me. I think snakes are gorgeous. Lizards, frogs, whatever – it’s all good. But dolphins – can I get a big “FUCK NO”?
You know what’s almost as bad as dolphins, though? Dolphin cultists. You know the type. They love dolphins. They really love dolphins. They will tell you that dolphins are the most majestic of God’s creatures, and that when they swam with them, they felt a connection. I’ve known people who claimed that dolphins talked to them. They genuinely believe that dolphins are capable of shooting mind-rays out into the populace to speak their dolphin magic to them, or whatever. I’m inclined to believe this whackadoo theory judging by the amount of people who find these unctuous undersea bastards cute.
I’m sure I’ll get some crap about this phobia from some enterprising soul, and that’s fine. I realize that this is a weird phobia. I don’t want dolphins to suffer or be hurt or die; I just don’t want them anywhere near me, k? I’ve spent time with them before, and I’ve even thought a pod was really pretty (when I was on dry land, watching from the safety of a balcony). But cooing over them to me is like cooing over a wolf spider to you. I don’t get it. This whirlpool of wonder can pass me right on by.