Lesson #27: The Ritual of the Belly-Button-Gunk

My best friend woke me from a deep sleep the other day, immediately putting me on speaker phone.

“When we were in high school, what did you eat of mine?” she asked.  Those around her didn’t believe our precious memory, and she needed validation…

As a bit of a “Senior Trip”, we were headed to Lake Geneva for the day in Amanda’s new Hyundai Tiburon.  It was gorgeous out, the windows were down, the wind blowing through, and we were excited to be out on our own for an adventure.

As was the fashion back then, Amanda was decked out in shorty shorts, a crop top and some fabulous press-on nails – probably a bit too long, but she was rocking them out.  She’d also just succumb to the trend of having her belly button pierced.  That wasn’t going too well.  Though she was cleaning it regularly, it was a bit… let’s just say “nasty”.

I paid no mind to the fact that she kept picking at it with her nails, as I was staring out the window enjoying my day.  And as is customary with Amanda, every other sentence out of her mouth is something filthy and hilarious and, finally, whatever she said got a reaction out of me.

“A-man-da!” I exclaimed, emphasis on the last syllable of her name, so my mouth was hanging open like a guppy.  I’d turned to look at her at just the wrong time this way, and flick.

The wind chose just that moment to blast through the car, lift a small piece of belly-button-crust from Amanda’s press-on nail through the air… and it flew directly down my throat.

This delayed the trip just a bit.  The things I had to say are not blog-appropriate.  We had to pull over, as the laughter nearly killed us both, dehydrated from the tears and in pain from the contortions.

It’s moments like this that leads to a life-long bond.  You just need something to hang over people’s heads…

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