Grody

Guess what? I have athlete’s foot in my belly button. Whose athlete's foot, you ask? I’m thinking Vanderjagt. Why Vanderjagt, you wonder? Because he has a misguided sense of direction. Athlete’s foot should not involve the navel, but the foot.

There’s so much to consider when one has an issue with her navel, such as psychosomatic disorders involving her mother. But that’s a topic for another entry. I do, however, have a cavernous belly button. I could probably store my keys or sneak a buffet muffin into it. This is only my second misadventure with my navel. The first being when I was a kid. The traumatic incident involved a tick, hydrogen peroxide and tweezers.

I know, I know. I probably shouldn’t share such bodily issues with you and rather hate on Paris Hilton or write some snobby review of something I think is great. But one day you may have athlete’s foot of the belly button, and I shall spare you any embarrassment.