Belly Button Blues.

Ok so maybe I exaggerated a little in my last post when I said that the belly dancer was a bloke. It was in fact the luxurious dark haired beauty with the beckoning eyes and not my pal who shared the van and the tent alternately during that unique week of fun. To describe her, as a belly dancer was technically wrong too, she only did it for a week in a musical production the name of which escapes me at the Thameside theatre in Ashton U Lyne.

I’m told the reason her career was cut short was down to her being rather more belly than dancer. Shame really, she did eventually show me some of her exotic moves and the sparkly thing she wore in her belly button during her gyrations on stage. She even let me twiddle with it once or twice which was big of her and infinitely more interesting than the blue fluff you normally find in that location.

I once knew a girl who couldn’t stand having her belly button licked, poked prodded or otherwise messed with. Of course I licked it and was rewarded with a slap on the head. A stupid move, as it’s impossible to see the blow coming in that position, but if you have read my other posts you will be aware that I like to push the limits, which is just bravado speak for being stupid.

I often wonder how life treated Nita the dark haired beckoning eyed girl, I know she gave up the stage and got a job welding ship containers in Duckinfield, with a company that proudly boasted they made the biggest dished end in the world. She eventually wed a marriage guidance counsellor from Bolton. It was a stormy relationship and they were divorced after a year. I wonder if she showed him her sparkly belly button thing.