It's not what it sounds like

During spring break my senior year in college, I ducked into a piercing shop in Philadelphia and got my belly button pierced. Since then, my belly button has sported a variety of smallish silver rings, some cuter than others. But lately I’ve been obsessed with the belly barbell, that curved silver prong with a small ball on each end, one of which hangs down in the middle of the belly button. It’s tres Britney but oh so flirty and fun. I had to have one. Besides, I reasoned, my belly rings have been catching on my yoga clothes and creating unsightly bumps. A barbell is ever so much more aesthetically pleasing.

After combing through racks of tacky, rhinestone-studded crap at every jewelry place in the mall, I finally found it: a simple silver belly barbell. No bells or charms, no sparklies or tiny Red Sox insignia--just plain. I bought it home, cleaned it with alcohol, removed my belly ring and tried to slide the barbell into, well, my hole.

And tried. And tried. And tried. Until finally I grasped the truth of the situation: my hole was too small.

I felt like a belly button virgin. My hole was too small and no amount of poking or prodding with the barbell would make the new stud go through. The shaft of my belly button ring is about 5 times thinner than the shaft of the barbell and, unlike what’s possible in a real virginal situation, stretching the hole was not only impractical but pretty much impossible without getting the spot re-pierced.

In the words of Animal from the Muppet Show, “FRUSTRATED!”

With belly red and throbbing, I declared defeat and put the belly ring back in. The barbell’s in a cup in the kitchen, and every time I go in the room I glare at it, daring it to shrink so it'll fit.