I tried mail order Hedgehogs from breeders near Chicago. Alas, it's unreasonably expensive to overnight ship live animals. And every time I tried to "dibs" a special little guy on their website, some jerk was 3 seconds ahead of me snapping him up. It was like trying to win an EBay auction for a piece of my own broken heart.
I tried a breeder near Wichita, an hour from me. I sent them a message to reserve my hedgehog. I spent hours on those 3 sentences, coming up with just the right mix of enthusiastic, adorable, brave enough to deal with an animal that turns into the business end of renaissance-era weaponry when frightened, and totally responsible enough to be trusted with living things that occasionally need oatmeal baths. But the deleted my message and it seems the family of hedgehog ranchers is having some personal issues, and no baby hedgehogs are happening. At least none that they were willing to share with me.
With all hope of sweet, sweet hedgehog lovin' stolen from my indefinite future, I whirled into a tailspin of shame and dysfunction. I abandoned spell check. I ate an entire bag of pretzel rods and watched the "National Treasure: Book of Secrets" movie. Twice. I decorated a Christmas Tree. With Glitter. GLITTER! The herpes of craft supplies! Can you imagine? I was in a bad way.
Then today, at a company lunch I believe was totally inspired by our accountant's mexi-tropical ringtone (because his phone rang, and then my boss said "anybody want to go get some lunch? Mexican?") My boss mentioned that a town not 30 minutes away had a petshop that carries hedgehogs.
I tried to keep my cool. But my voice took on a solid "squeal" quality. I mean, it's pretty impractical to go racing off buying prickly mammals smack dab in the middle of the holidays. It's just not responsible. Not very grown up.
Exeeeeeppt. I kind of accidentally called the petshop. And they kind of accidentally told me they could have my little guy in 2 weeks. And I kind accidentally did a happy dance in my swivel chair. I kind of accidentally almost fell out of my swivel chair.
The only thing that's stopping me is the price. The pet store marks up the price (Godless, heathens, putting a price on love like that) of the hedgehogs by about 2/3rds. And they ain't cheap to begin with.
So on that note, would anyone like to buy this gigantic picture I painted?
It's 3 feet by 3 feet, on clean, untreated canvas, acrylic paint.
I'm Kidding. Kind of. I'm kidding if no one wants it.
Also, Dear Readers, even if I wait till after Christmas, I WILL have a hedgehog. And I WILL need to name him. I favor old man names. (Fun Fact. When you Google "Old man names", mom bloggers get together to welcome you with the new rules of the internet. "Look woman. This place is about babies now. Get on the bus. We call them Vintage Baby Names now, OK?") I have a fish named Herbert. Because it's fun to say. And he can't really complain about it, because he doesn't have a tongue and when he opens his mouth it just fills up with water.
So what name should my soon to be bundle of joy have? Hm? Abe? Neville? Milton? Semore? Wilbur? Otis? Percival? Oscar?
Or something like Sonic? (too predictable, right?) Quill? Sega?
What about Forrest? It's a family name on my dad's side, but I sure as heck can't name any of my maybe-future-children that in the post-Gump age.
What do you think?