You know my life is exciting when it is a Friday night and, rather than tipping one back out and about on the town, I am about to settle into my couch to watch a movie after I just got off the phone with Jen where we had an actual argument about who it was, in a similarly dip-shit-ish conversation, that originally came up with the right combination of what belly button jam smells like: ass and feet or ass and arm pit.
We’re now both convinced that ass and feet is the smell winner, yet we are not convinced on who first decided that is what belly lint stinks like.
Let me point out that we might as well be 16 years old, or just going through puberty, popping zits, or arguing the finer points of bra size, but we’re not. We’re older. We are supposed to be wiser, cooler, and less dumb-ass-er.
Yet, here I am, on a Friday night, proclaiming to my dear friend that it was me, I am the one, who came up with “ass and feet,” not my friend. She insists it was her.
So, good. Ass, feet, and arm pits, that’s better. Better than everything else that has been on my mind.
Smell on my fabulous friends.
Go team!
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