She glides past, throwing me side eye.
Can’t win em all, I think.
She returns, this time bearing a smirk.
Oh, she’s feeling better! I sigh in relief.
Without warning:
S p l a s h !
She inundates me
with a swift flick of her tail.
I glance down and take in:
my water soaked jeans,
my dripping Veja leather sneakers.
I feel my no-show socks squelching.
She swims away.
And I swear, I
hear her cackling
in Atlantic bottlenose dolphinese.
She’s laughing at, not with me.
I guess that one’s on me.
I’m in ‘the Splash Zone’ after all.
Lesson learned.
Just because the National Aquarium
indefinitely cancelled scripted shows
doesn’t mean that the resident dolphins
agreed to cancel showing off.
Mammal v mammal:
As standoffs go,
I guess I’ll take a splash off
over the alternatives on display
around the world this month.
I walk away, a little thrown.
Slightly chagrined.
Squeaking in my kicks,
I concede this round to the sea.
