Jeers, Cheers and Belly Buttons

I had a most disturbing Addiverse event yesterday evening.  I was checking my email and found a blog comment waiting for me in my inbox.  I have comments for blog posts forwarded to me before they are posted; that way, I can do as I see fit with the comments.  Only once have I rejected a comment and that is because it was in Chinese and linked to a porn site when I checked it out--yes, a Chinese porn site with Chinese writing.  I have no idea what they were saying but it was pretty obvious what they were doing. 

Anyways, the comment was about an post from several years ago, one I had written about the lump under my arm.  Larry Lump, to be exact (God rest his soul).  I had posted a photo of Amy Winehouse (God rest her soul) that I found on the Google Images (a photo I found by accident and certainly didn't have permission to use) and wrote a bit about her because she had a lump under her arm, just like I had.  Here is the photo I used as illustration for the post.  The blog post was about me, as it's always about me.  It was not really about her.  It was actually about Larry, but he's part of me, so it's about me. I found the Amy photo by accident, loved it, used it, used her, moved on.  Well, with all these Google searches about Amy, my blog post must've popped up and someone read it and didn't like what I had to say.  At first I thought the person was kidding and being a smarty pants who wrote the comment.  Then, I thought it was my mother.  (No, not really, but that would have been hilarious.)  Then, I began to wonder if this was serious or not. Then, I felt all creeped out and thought, "this person is serious."  They used the "F" word, too.  Well, they kinda did.  They used *** to keep from using the real word.  You know, like f**k. That was good of them.  Only I get to swear in the Addiverse.

In a moment of cowardliness, I decided not to print the comment.  In some ways, I wish I had posted it; in most ways, I do not.  I don't need haters in the Addiverse.  There are too many haters in the world.  I need to have at least one tiny space hater-free.  So, if it was you who wrote it and you were kidding and you were not at all a hater, make another comment and I will post your original comment. I apologize for missing the humor. If it was my mother, I'll post her comment as soon as she alerts me.

For the record, I have no issue with Amy Winehouse.  I have no judgment regarding her addiction.  I actually like her music.  I felt a kindred spirit with the underarm lump.  I feel badly that she is dead.  For her, I have cheers, not jeers.  As for me, I don't mind jeers most of the time.  After all, how can one like everything I write? And, besides--getting this comment means at least ONE person read my blog yesterday.  For that reason alone, I should probably post the comment.  Thank you for being my one reader of the day!

On to belly buttons.  I was going to write about Freckles' poop and the wife's severe case of PTPD (post traumatic poop disorder), but decided talking about the wife's belly button was much more relevant and of interest than of foreign bodies in dog poop.  The wife went to the gynecologist the other day.  She really, really, really hates going.  I tried to reassure her by reminding her no one likes to go but she dislikes it so much that that is no consolation.  The only thing she likes worse than going to the gynecologist is thinking about her belly button.  She has always had an aversion to even touching her own belly button.  I do not understand this but I honor it.  I mean, what's to dislike about a belly button? They are cute, everyone has one, it is the way we found our way to life.

I was going to include a photo of my belly button from back in the day when it was pierced but decided against it.  I didn't want to lose my one reader by scaring them.  (No, I do not still have my pierced belly button. I only have the hole in my abdomen to prove it was once there.  Who the hell wants a hole in her abdomen? No me.  Not much I can do about it, though.  It is what it is. Sigh. To the nieces: do NOT pierce your belly buttons!  I know I sound, really really old saying this, but it's true.  Do.not.pierce.your.belly button.)

Back to the wife's belly button.  So, imagine what it was like for her when the gynecologist said, "Oh! I need to clean your belly button.  Those deep ones collect a lot of stuff."  He then pulled out a long-nosed pair of tweezers (which I imagine looked like barbecue tongs to the wife) and proudly stated, "these are my belly button cleaners!"  He began digging around, adding comments like, "this might sting a little." The nurse commented, "Geez, doctor, looks like you're digging to China!"

Seriously.  The guy not only noticed her belly button was "dirty," but then he went on to clean it.

HE CLEANED HER BELLY BUTTON!!!!

I imagine she wanted to die.  Her two most hated things at the same time. Who the hell cleans someone's belly button?  Was it that dirty?

I reckon it's gonna be a long time before she goes back to the gynecologist.  

I know it will be a long, long, long time before she ever tries to clean her belly button.

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If any of you have had your belly button cleaned by your gynecologist, I need to know.  Please make a comment on this post.  If you are incensed that I would make fun of a belly button or having one's belly button cleaned, please comment on this post.  If you want to know if Amy W. had a clean, pierced belly button, I'm not saying.
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