Okay, I’m at work. I just got back from a conference with Mr. Urinal. For the first time I’ve become aware of a longstanding unconscious habit of mine: During such moments I routinely poke my index finger between my buttons and fish out the contents of my bellybutton, contributing said contents to the conference in progress.
How long has this been so? How could I not have noticed prior? What alignment of planets or confluence of cosmic rays occurred not 10 minutes ago to have caused this revelation to become apparent to me at that exact moment?
Thinking deeper on this: what a convenient habit this is. To date that is one chore I’ve never had to worry about. Without this habit I would have had to add naval cleansing to my self-maintence checklist.
[ul]
[li]Hair cut? Check.[/li][li]Nails trimmed? Check.[/li][li]Bellybutton squeaky clean and lint free? Oh! Just a sec…[/li][/ul]
But now that I’m aware of it, will my unconscious feel relieved of its duty? Gad, the implications.
I’ve become accustomed to my wife heading to the belly button as soon as we go to bed. It’s a weird habit of hers, and I’ve noticed I now have to do it myself, until she returns on Thursday (gone for a week).
Regular cleansing definitely a good idea. I once got a rather unpleasant infection in my navel because of a bit of foreign matter. Yaagh. My stomache is twisting at the memory…
Bird Man collects some lint now and then, but I rarely notice. Until we are getting ready to get busy and then I am strangly compelled to fish his lint out of his belly button. Not sexy in the least, but that’s the only time I feel the need to de-lint him.
One time I went to pick my navel lint and felt something kind of hard. After some digging, a big wad of clotted BLOOD popped out, about the size of a pea. And it leaked blood for a few more minutes.
I still have no idea what happened there.
The moral, I suppose, is to watch how deep you dig.
Nope, my wife doesn’t get any either. It took years to convince her that mine was naturally occuring, and that I didn’t plant it there to gross her out. (I guess she thought I filched some from the dryer.)
It’s been almost a week now since my midriff revelation - and like with Mangetout’s gloves it appears a perceptive filter has disappeared. It turns out that I’ve been unconsciously naval grazing at almost any opportune occasion. Again, it’s a good thing - I’ve got the squeaky-cleanest belly button north of the 49[su]th[/sup]. It’s just surprising I didn’t sooner notice such a complex action going on right under my nose.
But really the only reason I bumped this lame thread is to point at the google ads: “Are you Clean Inside?” Seems germaine until you spot the fine print beneath “Death begins in the colon.” Of that I was not aware.
