Gross things...

It's only recently that I discovered that there really is such a thing as bellybutton lint. I used to think it was an exaggeration--something people joked about but never existed in a tangible sense. Not anymore. For now I've discovered it for myself, and I find that I am truly addicted to lint foraging.

It's not that I think about it all day. But once I get home and sit myself at the computer my hand naturally gravitates to that ever-deepening mine of fuzz. I dig and dig, push aside fool's lint (attached hair), and pinch out that downy soft knot of what was once part of a sweater or a threadbare shirt.

I never know what to do with my little treasures, though. It's not like I can sell them on e-Bay or ship them off to the Salvation Army; so they usually end up being flicked over my shoulder, or they spend a few minutes on my mouse pad until they are unknowingly trampled over and end up stuck to that little rubber ball inside the mouse casing.

And then I think, What purpose do these tiny fuzzy morsels serve? And I've come to the conclusion that it must be God's way of allowing men to give birth to something. For who knows how long the tiny lint was stuck to the wall of the bellybutton, growing larger every day, receiving nutrition from sweatshirts, blankets, and shower towels. Until one day the little guy pokes its furry head out and sees the world for the first time.