The Dangers of an Evil Tinky-Winky
Yes, you read that correctly.
When I was 8 years old my parents took our family to the UK for 3 weeks. They had saved and saved and were so excited to show their 3 girls around the small island they had visited on their honeymoon. We have a lot of good stories from our time there together, from sassy guards a the Tower of London, to spending more time than any of us kids felt necessary in a pencil factory. One of the most notable things that happened, occurred on my ninth birthday, which was spent in a little village called Beer, in the county of Devon.
My family has some old friends that live in England. Originally my grandparents became friends with Peter and Rosemary, and now we’re friends with pretty much the entire family. That’s how my family works; we’re rather infectious that way. And it’s all because Grandma understood the value of a proper thank you note). We spent a week of our adventure in Beer where Peter and Rosemary had a Bed and Breakfast. Peter and Rosemary have always been like an extra set of grandparents to me and my sisters. When we were kids they visited almost every year.
At any rate, I got to spend my ninth birthday in England. On that day we visited a Hedgehog Sanctuary. Yes, you read that correctly, a Hedgehog Sanctuary. Before you get excited, you should know that this blog post is not going to paint hedgehogs in the adorable light you usually see on the internet. I do not like hedgehogs. They are dangerous little stinkers whom I shall not forgive, no matter how tiny their booties get.
One of the workers in sanctuary showed a group of us kids some baby hedgehogs. Apparently, a sibling group of four had been handed over to them from a nearby lady, who had accidentally murdered their mother with her lawnmower. It was the custom of this little sanctuary to allow the humans who brought in at risk hedgehogs, to name the rescued animals. This was the summer of 1999, so Teletubbies were quite the thing. The murderer in question named them Tinky-Winky, Dipsy, Lala and Po, after the children’s show characters. Because it was my birthday, I was gifted what was to be a short amount of time holding one of the orphaned hedgehogs.
Naturally, as a newly 9 year old girl I was ecstatic to be singled out for such a special treat. I was given a washcloth, and on top of that, Tinky-Winky (the hedgehog, not the teletubby). In the midst of my innocent, childhood joy, Tinky-Winky (the hedgehog, not the teletubby) BIT ME ON MY THUMB! I cried my bloody eyes out. I had been betrayed, ON MY BIRTHDAY, of all days! Tinky-Winky (the hedgehog, not the teletubby) was immediately taken away and the prestige of being the birthday girl went with him. I had 2 tiny marks on my left thumb and I was 100% certain they were going to scar. It was a good thing I was right handed, who knows how much delay I would have experienced in school due to such a tragic impact on a dominant hand?
I’ll level with you, the bite marks from Tinky-Winky (the hedgehog, not the teletubby) did not scar, and they were pretty much gone by the time we landed back in the U.S. But one of our other family friends who we visited on our trip promised me that he would always think of me whenever he looked at his left thumb. It’s true, I have it in writing somewhere. I think strange stories like this is what makes someone to be a weirdo. And remember, I’m from Portland, weird is good. I may not be scarred physically, but I am scarred emotionally and I, to this day, do not trust hedgehogs - or teletubbies.