This morning my husband called me a hedgehog, of all things. I had gotten up early again to make his lunch. When he came out to the kitchen, I was already wrapping his sandwich and putting it in his lunchbox. He asked me a question, and in my half-asleep state I didn’t want to talk. So I shook my head vigorously, hair bouncing everywhere. His response? He laughed and announced cheerfully, ‘You look like a hedgehog!’


My sleep-deprived brain wasn’t exactly sure how to take that. So I shook my head violently and proclaimed, ‘I’m not a hedgehog!’ That just made him laugh again and tell me that yes, I was.

I'm not a hedgehog!

I’m not a hedgehog!

I wailed. ‘No I’m not!’

He finally gave in and said that okay, I was not a hedgehog.

But now that I think about it, hedgehogs are kind of cute. (If a little spikey!) It’s also an improvement on some of the other things he’s called me. So I guess I can cope with being called a hedgehog.

At least I’m a much-loved hedgehog.

I bags being this one!

I bags being this one!