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Proof That I Am Most Definitely Not Ready To Have Kids

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Last night was an interesting night in my house. My wife’s pet hedgehog was sick. You read that correctly: pet hedgehog. We had noticed the night before that he didn’t seem to be feeling too hot, so yesterday morning I offered to take him to work with me so we could snag the first available appointment with the only exotic vet in town. Brownie points: scored.

After an interesting afternoon in the vet’s office, about $150 in vet bills for medicine, some powdered nutritional substitute we have to hand-feed to him with a syringe, new diet food for when he’s not sick anymore, and at least a little peace of mind that the hedgehog would most likely not die (meaning I wouldn’t have to console my wife), we (read: my wife) proceeded to obsess over him nearly all night, which is when things started to go downhill.

5pm – The instructions on this bag say to mix the powder with water to a “baby-food-like consistency.” I’m assuming all baby food has the same consistency? Are there differences? What if “strained peas” are different than “beets?” My wife will kill me if he dies after I try to feed him.

7pm – Holy shitballs! Try to force a hedgehog to uncurl is like trying to pry open a coconut with a plastic spoon…a very, very prickly coconut. At least with a dog or a cat you didn’t have to pry the damn thing open. My hands feel like I’ve gotten into a fight with a rose bush.

8pm – Oh my God, will you just eat something?! Just open your mouth! That’s all you have to do! EAT THE FOOD!

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9pm – I think it would be easier to feed a toddler than it is to feed you! At least with a kid you can trick him into opening his mouth! If you die on me, I swear to God…

10pm – Three hours to feed you a teaspoon of goo that looks and smells like ass-flavored baby formula, and in an hour I get to do it all over again with medicine! Shoot me in the face.

11pm – The vet said giving you this medicine should be easy because it tastes like cherries. The vet fucking lied!

12am – Ok hedge, here’s the deal. The wife won’t leave me alone and let me go to bed until you take your damn medicine, so if you don’t take it in the next ten minutes, I swear to God, I’m going to spray paint you blue like Sonic.

12:30am – Fuck it, I’m going to bed.

2am – “Yes honey, he’s alive. He’s sick, he probably wants to sleep – just like me. Can we go back to bed now?”

5am – “Don’t even try to get me up. It’s your turn.”

6am – Aaaaand now it’s time to get ready for work. I am never, EVER, EVER having children. Like ever.

On the upside, the hedgehog did not die, is doing much better, is much easier to feed (since he’s feeling better) and I scored some MAJOR brownie points with the wife. But seriously, never having kids.

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Spaceman Spiff

Now a graduate with a few years of business "experience", Spiff didn't exactly turn into the interplanetary explorer extraordinaire he had hoped to become. Instead, he spends his days as a cynical desk jockey, moonlighting as a Contributing Writer for PGP and marching ever closer to the big 3-0, which has only fueled his transition from quarter-life crisis straight into thrisis.

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