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| Yes they're adorable. |
But I'm always only half (or 0%) serious.
Last night, I found myself on the opposite side of that as Steven was desperately trying to convince me that we should get a hedgehog.
It started out as a joke about Sega that somehow quickly spiraled into something similar to the "let's get a pet" battles that I'd had with my parents while growing up.
He tells me that he wants a hedgehog named Hedge Fund.
I do not want a hedgehog.
But I'm always game for some comical bantering and so I say, "Let's research it first," assuming that he'd get distracted by the football game that's on and that this conversation would end with the first fumble-fumble-fumble.
Instead, he pulls out the laptop and starts Googling hedgehog things and reading them to me.
I throw out a dozen questions like, "Are hedgehogs friendly? How big are their cages? Can you have hedgehogs as pets in NJ?
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| Google proof that hedgehogs are fun... |
Boyfriend pulls up internet research for each one.
We learn that they're friendly, easy to care for and that you need a permit in NJ to own one but that apparently they're great apartment pets.
"What if they're boring?" I ask him.
It's obvious that my question insults him and he types it into Google, then right away and very loudly he responds, "Hedgehogs are lots of fun," he tells me, pointing to the first sentence that came up.
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| "Hedgehogs are lots of fun!" he says. |
"Maybe we can get a smaller pet, like a hamster or a gerbil," I offer, hoping that he'll say no right away.
He doesn't and he starts researching gerbils. I tell him to type in "Best small pets for kids," and he balks.
"We're not kids," he tells me.
"I know but I want an easy pet," I explain. I think about gerbil poop and puppy throw up and kitty litter boxes with quiet horror.
"But we'll name him Hedge Fund!" Steven said. "How fun would it be to have that spiky little thing running around here?"
He's updating his brother via Gmessage about our hedgehog battle. His contribution: "Did you tell her that they can crash through walls?"
Steven reads it and chokes on cranberry juice.
Next he goes to YouTube and subjects me to numerous and adorable videos of hedgehogs being sickeningly cute. There's one of a very happy hedgehog eating a carrot and making the funniest faces.
At this point, I still do not want a hedgehog but at least I can admit that they're adorable.
"You always want pets," he reminds me.
"Ok we can think about getting a hedgehog," I tell him, hoping to delay this conversation until it's forgotten about, a tactic I remember my parents using on me when I wanted a pet parrot.
But he's too smart for that nonsense.
He says, "You're always saying you want a pet and now that I actually want one, all the sudden you're changing your mind-- why?"
"Because I want like, a cute puppy and we're not allowed to have pets here," I tell him. "I'd rather wait for a puppy. Also hedgehogs are spiky and not cuddly."
I try another tactic, "Are you going to ask our landlords if we can have a hedgehog here?"
"Yes," he says immediately. "He's not going to ruin anything."
"You're going to clean up his poop?" I ask him, once again remembering all those "lets get a pet!" battles that my parents had lost with me.
"Yeah, you just scoop a little poop out," he says with a poop-scoop motion.
I am losing this battle.
"Do you really want a hedgehog?" I ask him, squinting my eyes.
"Yes I really want a hedgehog," he says to me with a measured stare.
He picks up this stuffed animal that we have of a large-eyed Slow Loris and starts pretending it's a hedgehog, "Don't you want me as a pet, Leanne?" he asks in a weird animal voice.
Yes, I think to myself. Stuffed animal pets are fine because they don't poop or smell or bite. Then he finds a video of a Slow Loris getting tickled and shows it to me.
It looks like I've lost this battle and that we're getting a spiky pet named Hedge Fund.
Stay tuned.