Dolphins hate me

See this? Somewhere, out under the water, a dolphin is swimming for its life because I am at the beach.

Let me explain.

I grew up going to a beach house every summer with my family.

Always it seemed I missed the pod of porpoises or dolphins as they sped by our ocean view, whether out for a walk or a trip to the zoo. Or they teased me by visiting the day before my family arrived, and my grandmother would tell me about it as I spent the rest of the afternoon peering through my grandfather’s telescope for a sight of the cute smiling dolphins.

You know that scene in Breaking Dawn where Edward cannot to into the ocean because he chases away the dolphins?

Well, I guess that is me.

I apologize about referencing Twilight, especially when it’s stupid Edward and not Jacob. Please don’t click away based on this.

I am unlucky to have at the beach if you want to see anything besides stranded kelp and fishing boats.

Except for one glorious day where dolphin backs were seen a few times popping through the surface as they fed on a school of fish, they evade me.

Ignore me.

Even at Sea World, where you are amazed to see how big they really are as they glide by you in the tank, you mentally measuring against them and decide you’re glad you’re not in the water when they’re grumpy.

I tried a couple times to connect with some dolphins when I went with Mr. Wonder, then just boyfriend, when we had a season pass and spent the day getting splashed with seawater and nights eating fondue at a cozy little restaurant just a few minutes away.

Sometimes they offer fish to feed the dolphins, for a price of course.

Smelly, slightly slippery fish in a box like a soggy grey offering of marine French fries.

We tried buying our own dolphin snack, aka ‘bait’ as I hoped to touch one of the smooth grey backs after it took my fish, or pat the nose like some pull off doing, evading toothy grins.

We picked a spot a little farther away from where people had already started to pile, and were soon surrounded by others with their own dolphin fast food trays, trying to squeeze in with us.

And waited.

The dolphins were now circling the enclosure, zooming in on fish holders, mouths wide and impatient.

My fish was held over the water, dipped into the water,  futile display of a fish enticing its own death, and dangled again.

The dolphins never even slowed down as they surrounded the people around me.

After a few tries and a fish dropped in desperation, I handed fish over to Mr. Wonder and stepped behind.

His tray was soon emptied from hungry dolphins.

Even if I reached out over the water toward them they would swim away from his fish, sensing an obviously dark and menacing presence as I stood in Chucks and jeans, bewildered.

Evil is hardly the word ever used on me yet dolphins, with their ever-present smiles, seem to sense something hanging in the air around me besides the smell of scented lotion.

So the last time I went to go see the dolphins, still years ago, I tried sneaking in amongst those who already had fish to see how close I could get.

I noticed the closer I came, the wider arc the dolphins were swimming away from those dangling their own gruesome dolphin fries.

So I stepped away, in a corner where no one could dangle a fish far out enough, and poutingly leaned on fake rocks as my husband stood closer, enjoying the dolphins eating out of joyous kid’s hands.

Stupid dolphins.