Outside of the ocean and the ocean parks, Vegas and the other Meccas of gambling probably love the word whales as much as little kids do. Of course the meaning differs but the word whale brings a lot of different things to mind depending upon who is saying it and why.
Associate a woman with a whale and your friends will probably be delivering your eulogy or trying to contact you over a Ouija board one fine rainy night. But there’s loving side to being called a whale. And it can happen like this…imagine one fine day a mother and child are frolicking in the pool. The child is a rambunctious ‘un who takes to the water like an otter and gambols like one too.
He suddenly clings to his mother’s neck and demands a piggyback side all up and down the length of the pool. When his less than thrilled mother asks why, pat comes the reply, “because you’re my whale.” There are very few women who wouldn’t have a brief spell of a body dysmorphic disorder over these words. Especially one who has enough of a body to spare for a few starving people from third world countries.
So the mother tries to put a positive spin on things by saying, “I think I’m more like a dolphin. Don’t you think so? Dolphins are nice.” The child agrees that the dolphins are nice but stoutly (‘cuse the pun!) maintains that the mother is a whale.
When the water around the mother starts to bubble and churn, the child senses some element of danger and asks with a quasi-pouty face, “Will you be my whale?”
The imminent whirlpool ebbs and the newly christened (and no longer smarting) whale gives her cub the desired ride. But a few minutes into the return trip, when the cub just lets go and turns the mom-whale into a floating mattress, the urge to kick a tiny little rump over the horizon surfaces again. Strongly.
But oh that little hopeful face and those wistful words…”will you be my whale”. What mother wouldn’t melt? I almost did. And then I turned up my tail and swam away 🙂