Page 39 of Lovebug
“Louise is a marine biologist,” I explain to Cyndi. “Hence the dolphin knowledge.”
“Almosta marine biologist,” Louise corrects as she sips her 7 and 7. “I’m finishing up a final internship for my bachelor’s now, then onto grad school at UPenn, which I’ll start while simultaneously working a job as an animal specialist at Philly Aquarium this fall. Two solid years of that, some more work in the field, andthenI can call myself a marine biologist.”
“Ef that,” Calliope scoffs. “You can call yourself a marine biologist right now! I call myself a paleontologist, and I still have a ways to go too.”
“So I’m the only nonscientist at this table, huh?” Cyndi says.
“Yup!” I say proudly. It feels good to finally have a solid group of girlfriends, especially ones who understand why I do what I do. These are girls who aren’t afraid to get messy, to literally “play in the dirt” digging for dinosaur bones or dive into murky waters to study a blobfish. These women are passionate about science. They would never give me that scrunched-up “ew” face so many people give me when they learn that an entomologist studies bugs, not words. For the record, an etymologist studies words. Anentomologist studies bugs. It’s shocking how many people get that wrong.
“Hey, Lou—curious—how do you know they fornicate for pleasure?” Calliope asks.
“Dolphins?”
“Yeah.”
Louise launches into her explanation with gusto. I totally get it. I’m the same way when I talk about bugs.
“Well, there was this really amazing study done recently on dolphin clitorises. See, up until this point, the majority of dolphin sexuality studies have been done on dolphinpenises, mostly because—
“Because the world of science revolves around the penis,” Calliope says with no small amount of snark.
“True,” Louise says. “But… we’re working on changing that, right ladies?” She looks at Calliope and me.
“Totally,” I say after a moment’s hesitation, a bit nervous about chiming in for fear the topic will return to me and my issues. I’m enjoying the dolphin diversion at the moment.
“Anyway,” Louise continues, “much like in human female anatomy, dolphin clitorises have erectile tissue, blood vessels, and nerve bundles that all point toward the fact that sex serves more purposes for dolphins than just the procreative ones.”
“How about sex purposes for porpoises?” I joke. “Try saying that three times fast! Purposes for porpoises, purposes for porpoises, purposes for porpoises.”
“Actually, Mabel,” Louise says, “it’s a common misconception, but dolphins and porpoises aren’t the same thing. They’re completely different animals.”
Clearly, Louise is not fully acclimated to my sense of humor yet. This is no surprise to me. I’ve been told I’m an acquired taste. Mostly by Bert. Which now that I think of it, is not the nicest thing to say, is it?
“When the male…” Lou searches for the word. “Lover? Is ‘lover’ a better term than ‘mate’?”
“Ugh! Lover?” Cyndi makes a face.
“Yeah, no.” Calliope agrees. “I’ve always hated the word lover. Whenever someone says ‘Oh, let me introduce you to my lover—’”
“Who the hell says that?” Cyndi asks.
“You know... people.” Calliope shrugs. “Anyway, whenever someone says ‘let me introduce you to my lover,’ I always want to be like ‘why don’t we just call him what he really is: your sexer.’”
“Your SEXER?!” I ask.
“Yeah. Think about it. That’s what they mean. They’re not commenting on the deep respect and affection between them. They’re merely saying that that’s the person they go to when it’s time to do the sex-ing. Okay, we’ve gotten off topic.” She takes a deep sip from her margarita. “Back to fixing Mabel.”
“I don’t need to be fixed. I am perfectly—”
“Reason two I know you are not fine! The other day you snapped at me on the phone.”
“Whoa. Mabel’s not a snapper!” Cyndi seems shocked.
“Believe me, I know! But she snapped like a sonofabitch. She was all like, ‘I have depth Calliope, despite what you or others may think!’ What was that all about? Mabes, we know you have depth.”
“Do you, though?” I ask.
“Sure, but it’s not our fault that you hide it from us.”
