Navel-gazing

Naval-gazing:

Dictionary definition. Noun. “Self indulgent or excessive contemplation of oneself or a single issue, at the expense of a wider view.”

Jean-Paul’s definition. Verb. “Self indulgent or excessive examination of my husband’s oddly shaped belly-button, at the expense of any other parts of his anatomy.”

There are very few times when there’s anything worth watching on Saturday morning TV. It’s moments like those, with an opened packet of Oreos in one hand and a cup of hot frothed milk for dunking in the other, that God created our sofa. From my favourite position on it, propped up on a lumpy cushion, I get a really terrific bird’s-eye view of Guido’s body laying on the rug. I particularly like it if he’s only got on his underwear whilst he’s energetically pumping stomach crunches. It’s weirdly hypnotic.

“Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine,” said Guido counting them out this morning.

I was feeling exhausted just watching. As you probably guess I’m not a stomach crunch kind of a guy. I tried it once and I wasn’t able to get my head off the floor.

“What happens if you lose count?” I said peeling back the top of one of my cookies and slowly sucking the white centre off with my lips, “do you have to start all over again?” I asked optimistically.

“Sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two,” said Guido completely ignoring me.

I got myself comfy. I even put my glasses on so I could get to see better. Here’s a little tip for you. Magnified vision is vital if you want to properly examine any part of a guy’s hairy anatomy. And I’ve got to tell you, the view I had was better than a sun set on St Paul’s Cathedral Dome on a mid-Summer evening.

Today, as I was feeling even more bored than usual, I started mentally scoring his bits out of 10. Arms and thighs are exemplary. Big tick. I’d say 9/10 (though I suspect it’s because of all the chopping and squatting he does.) Abs are a tight six pack. Another happy endorsement. Anyone who sails past sixty stomach crunches without requiring an oxygen mask deserves 10/10 in my book. I accept his knees are a bit on the dodgy side, so a 3/10, but hey nobody’s perfect. It is however, when you home in on Guido’s belly-button things begin to go decidedly down hill. And when I say downhill, what I mean is turn odd.

I consider my own belly-button one of my more successful attributes. It’s a perfectly formed aperture which is just big enough to comfortably fit a M&M into it. Guido’s looks like his has just been severed and should still actually be connected to somebody. I got on my knees beside him to get a better look at it. Surely it couldn’t be as bad as I remembered it. However, being totally impartial on the scoreboard front, he was hovering just below zero on account of poor aesthetics.

“Eighty-eight, what the hell are you looking at, eighty-nine?” asked Guido still crunching.

“I’m just scoring your belly-button out of ten and it’s not looking good,” I said. Unfortunately just as I said that a small piece of Oreo cookie crumb landed in it, disappearing inside.

Irate:

Dictionary definition. Adjective. “Feeling or characterised by great anger.” 

Jean-Paul’s definition. Verb. “Feeling or characterised by biscuit or cookie throwing.”

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47 thoughts on “Navel-gazing

  1. HaHAHA! I roared my head off at this, I can just picture the scenario! I bet that put paid to his crunches! I can’t imagine it would be very comfy with a bit of biscuit lodged in your belly button, whether it is odd-shaped or not! 🙂

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  2. You description gave me this vision of a Demi-god amusing a slug on the sofa munching on cookies. Poor Saint Guido, someone should save him from this fate or his this his path to martyrdom watching you eat awful Oreos.

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  3. My belly button is perfect too, it is about the only body part with which I have never had a problem, oh and my ears! Maybe we should form a Belly Button Appreciation Society so we can all admire each other’s perfection in a world of otherwise weird-looking navels. Here’s a secret I’ve never told anyone: I was once nicknamed Belly Button because my surname was Bellamy! But don’t let on …

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  4. I enjoyed this story. It’s much better than watching my big, fluffy cat stretch out on the floor. I can do forty crunches no problem, but I may have to shoot for sixty next time to see if I can do it.

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