Belly button lint.
It’s severely annoying: I have to dig it out any time I’ve worn a shirt longer than just a couple hours.
It’s slightly embarrassing: when I take off my shirt in front of others (including my wife), there’s this ball of fabric demanding attention.
It’s surprisingly handy: if you collect enough of it, it can provide an excellent lightweight spark catcher for backpacking campfires.
It’s simply miraculous: no matter how many times I wear a shirt and collect navel shavings from it, I never seem to wear holes in it.
For the most part, I just accept belly button lint as a reality of life. Not quite a necessary evil, but certainly an unavoidable one. There’s nothing I can do to stop it, so I have to accept it, or it would drive me insane.
I’ve had seasons when I produced a lot and seasons when I produced none. I can’t seem to discern a pattern to it. It happens in all seasons, so it has nothing to do with the weather. It happens to loose and snug shirts, so it’s not the fit. I find the lint-wad now as much as I did when my waistline was more substantial, so it’s not the shape. And I’ve not noticed a difference even in the few times I’ve shaved my stomach, so it’s not the body hair.
I’ve long since given up. I just trust it’s coming.
However, I really wish it would stop. I hate the feeling of eyes on me — even if it’s just my kids — when I’m fishing out the latest downy dander from my umbilicus. It’s not hard to feel sheepish with a finger digging into your own beebo.