Oh, that evokes a little story (sorry, a tad OT);Don't pick in your belly button,you could bleed to death. I guess I had a habit of doing that, very strange.
The Quiet One
The younger grandson, of the two that seem to inhabit our place a bit more than the others, is a rather curious George kinda monkey. Always exploring simple things, getting deep into the mechanics of grass, bugs, baking powder, the science of kitty litter and Kool-Aid, canning jars and why lids seal, namaw’s underwear drawer, papaw’s banking stuff, and ancient glass floats and their relation to papaw’s hammer….anything really.
When he was around three, he was in the spare bedroom…for hours….quiet.
We were all in the family room watching some movie.
Here he comes, with a somewhat quizzical but triumphant look on his face.
None of us noticed anything right away, and I may have remarked how nice it was to have him join our ranks, when his mother shrieks ‘OH….MY....GAWWWD!!!?’
His little mug went from a ‘look what I did’ expression of profound discovery to quizzical horror as we all took turns shrieking.
Seems he’d found interest in the inner workings of his belly button, and had managed to get hold of the very end and pull it inside out, strutting out of the bedroom and down the hall with about three inches of inverted naval tube stickin’ out.
The lad has never been bored
….nor have we.