...and then there was the excitement surrounding my belly button. It's an inny, and everyone knows that at some point in your pregnancy, your belly button pops like a turkey timer and becomes an outy.
Zing!
I imagined that magical day, perhaps a little too vividly, for I had grandiose ideas of what that transformation from inny to outy would entail. See [blushing], I kind of naively thought that 30 years' worth of accumulated stuff would come rocketing out and that Chuck and I would be able to rifle through it and exclaim, "So that's where that extra key went!" or "I thought Tiger ran off years ago."
But you know what? It doesn't work like that. Some innies, like mine, just widen in span, morphing and growing into Grand Canyons of belly buttons. With pregnancy #2 it's even more expansive.
Hello-ello-ello-elloo-ooo.
Hello-ello-ello-elloo-ooo.
I feel kind of jipped. I'll never know if something incredibly valuable could have fallen in there without my knowing. Like an original Declaration of Independence! Gold! Pictures of Lost Continent of Atlantis!
Or, lint. Ok, fine, it's just lint.
Grumble, grumble. Don't look at me like that. It's not like I just admitted I wear nipple tassels.
Heh. Heh.
Anyway, thanks for, um, listening. We now return to our regularly scheduled broadcast: Mrs. Mullet Should Probably Get Out More.
(Pssst. Yah, you. I know you have something weird you want to admit now too. Go on, do it!)
