pillow talk - memorable conversations in bed

We've all been there.  You wake up (or roll over) and you or your partner say something off the wall.  That's what this section is.

Belly Button Lint

I haven't done a great deal of research into the subject but I'm quite sure that I am an expert into the matters of the belly button.  Why do some smell funny?  Who do some not?  What the hell are outies?  I have answers to all of these questions, and the amazing thing is that none of them are based in science.

I'm also a hairy man.  Once, some time back, Carmen woke up and stated how much she got a kick out of my chest hair.  You see, I'm not big into animals - mostly because of the dander vs. allergies aspect - but Carmen loves furry things; that's what makes us a good match.  I began to explain to her that being hairy offered many hurdles.  Sort of like The Hulk; with great power comes great responsibility.  One of the responsibilities of having traffic stopping sex appeal on my chest is to keep it clean, twice per day in the only thoracic orifice present.  It has to be twice per day because just once, at the end of the day, is like cleaning out the lint filter of your dryer after three straight loads of towels.  Twice keeps things tidy.

"But, Riley.  You work during the day; when do you have time to clean out the button the first time?"  When I go pee after lunch.  Index finger right in, after peeing, but right before you wash your hands.  You don't go back out in the world typing on the keyboard with belly button resin all over your finger.

Carmen was curious on how the belly button accumulates so much lint, while hers has none.  I did an experiment on this back in college.  Whilst a young freshmen at Northwestern Oklahoma State, I shaved my entire torso.  I was a touch fitter then and had not seen my bare chest and stomach since I was 16.  And when I was 16, there wasn't much to look at in term of physique.  So I took the razor to it and something weird happened; I stopped having belly button lint.  I couldn't explain it but I certainly didn't mind.  However, as I was seeking the attention of girls, I realized the only distinguishing characteristic about me was my chest hair.  I grew the chest hair back out and along with it came a furry button.

As the chest hair grew thicker and expanded in all directions, like it had a divinely-ordained right of manifest destiny, claiming land that once belonged to my shoulders, the lint grew thicker.  Like the unsettled American west, my chest hair went mining; plundering my clothes and claiming the bounty in the name all things manly.  It didn't venture onto my head however.  It stopped at my neck.  Apparently, my head is cold and too dense to negotiate.  Fantastic... my head is Canada.

After months of experimenting, hypothesizing, and picking, I finally developed a theory.  My chest hair isn't an American frontiersman at all.  If anything, it appears there is a fire in my belly button.  That's right, a fire!  And, one-by-one my chest hair is carrying buckets of lint, like 18th century firemen, and casting the lint into my stomach sinkhole to extinguish the blaze.  But here's the thing, they don't stop working.  They're like Southern California firemen, the job is never done.  Luckily, the fire is contained in a singular cavern.  Sure, I may give the firemen a break when the shirt comes off; but it's back to work with the rise of a new day.

Now you may be asking yourself, "Riley, why don't you just shave off your chest hair and not have this problem at all?"  Well I could, but Canada is getting balder and the "southern hemisphere" would look pretty damn funny without it.

At some point in the story, I lost Carmen's attention.  If it were a Saturday morning, she probably fell back asleep.  It's just as well; that metaphor turned really ugly.