A friend told me she hates dolphins. “How can you hate dolphins?” I asked.
She explained it was because dolphins rape people. And laugh about it.
“I’m serious,” she said. “Google it.”
So I Googled it.
And learned that dolphin rape is most likely where mermaids come from.
She also told me my dog only loves me because I feed her.
I looked deep into the Professor’s eyes and asked if she loved me. I mean really loved me. Or if I was just a meal ticket. Professor Anne closed her eyes. I grabbed her head and petted it aggressively and said I knew the meal ticket thing wasn’t true because sometimes I forget to feed her* and she still loves me.
Or is she simply a skilled actress? Should I not mark Michelle Williams on my Predict the Oscars ballot? Is there a write-in candidate I need to consider?
This devolved into something like the Ellen Foley part in “Paradise by the Dashboard Light,” with me demanding to know if she loves me, if she’ll love me forever, if she needs me, if she’ll never leave me, etc.
The Professor promised to sleep on it and give me an answer in the morning.
Now I am suspicious. Of dolphins and of dogs.
And of love in general.
This has made working on my next book difficult.
*Just for a couple of hours. No one call the ASPCA, please.