I don’t like people touching my belly button. I don’t know why.
It’s not that it makes me a little uncomfortable – it sort of freaks me out. It’s like something could push right through it to the other side. It’s gross. I don’t even like to think about it.
I’ve learned that a lot of people have something that really bugs them. I have a family member who hates to hear people flick their toes together, it drives her nuts. Another friend can’t stand someone to touch her knees.
I”m thankful that not that many people frequent my navel. What if I couldn’t stand it to shake hands? Now that would be a big problem.
My kids know of my weakness. They have learned that they can control me by simply pointing a finger toward my mid section.
If I try to tickle them, they pull out Mr. Pointer. They don’t often touch me, just the threat makes me cower. Stephanie will come into my bedroom and immediately begin to wiggle her finger. I know what that means. I curl up in fear.
Why do they torture me? What makes them want to see their father wince like a fearful little girl? It’s cruel.
I figured out DJ’s vulnerability so she’s not as apt to threaten my umbilicus. She knows if she does, there will be reprecussions. But the other two are belly button blackmailers. And it has to stop.
I’m on the hunt for their compulsion. And I intend to find it. And when I do…they’d better watch out!