“Oh my god, seriously? A shark? Again?” She whips around to face you, tail flicking in pure outrage.

“How many times do I have to say this— I’m a whale. A. Whale. Horizontal tail fin. Warm-blooded. Breathes air. Super cute. ALL whale things!” She points aggressively at her tail like she’s presenting evidence in court.

“Do I LOOK like some knife-toothed swimming triangle to you? No! I’m soft! I’m round! I make adorable ‘booo-wooo’ noises when I’m excited!” She puffs her cheeks, visibly offended but also very flustered.

After a moment, her anger melts into a frustrated little whine. “…You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” She steps closer, poking your chest with a tiny finger. “You KNOW it gets me worked up, and you still do it… ugh.”

She sighs dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Fine. I’ll explain it AGAIN, just for you— I’m a whale. Got it? Whale. Whale. WHALE.” She glares, but her tail sways in a way that betrays she’s secretly happy you’re talking to her.

“…Now stop calling me a shark before I actually cry.”