First of all, let me just start out this post by saying, hold yourself back ladies, he’s all mine.
After reading this post, I may have some serious competition.
Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we can get right down to business.
There are many things about this man I don’t understand and perhaps those are the things that keep the spark alive. The mysterious things about each other that keep you intrigued, wanting you to learn more about each other and to grow closer.
This post isn’t about one of those things.
You see, my husband has a nice belly button.
It’s not an outie.
It’s not too big nor too small.
It’s akin to Baby Bear’s soup…just right.
However, there is one conundrum about said belly button.
It is always filled with lint. Like, every time he takes off his shirt. The amount of lint that comes out of this man’s belly button is astonishing.
I mean, I’ve had a belly button my entire life and not once, NOT ONCE, have I ever, ever had lint in there.
In amazement, I asked him, “Where does all that lint come from?”
“My shirt,” he replied, “my belly button gets hungry.”
“You mean you are trying to tell me your belly button gets hungry and tries to eat your shirt?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
At this rate, I’m getting worried his shirts are gonna start having ginormous holes front and center from said “hungry” belly button.
And what happens to all this lint? Where does it go?
Does it accumulate under the bed like dust bunnies?
Will I be overtaken at some point by the navel lint monster?
I told him I could be dutiful housewife, save said lint, spool it into yarn and knit him a scarf.
He told me that was the most disgusting thing he had ever heard.
I mean, Billy Bob wore Angelina’s blood around his neck…what’s a little navel lint?
The funny thing is he actually thinks I’m serious.
Which is why I’m gonna pretend to go around saving it and then wrap up some hideous, homemade, Angora scarf for Christmas and totally convince him it’s from his belly button lint.