I’m awaiting my flight which will take me back home. Or Club Med, as it has become in my absence. Fiddledaddy has taken the children to The Magic Kingdom, the beach, and Typhoon Lagoon during my short stay in Texas. The children are likely not going to be all that happy to see me, as their fun is about to come to a screeching halt.
Well. I did overhear that the children are wanting to kidnap me on Tuesday and whisk me off to Typhoon Lagoon since I’ve never been. Especially since I’m no longer afraid of the sausage casing, formerly known as my bathing suit.
However, my bathing suit may fear me, since I may or may not have eaten my body weight in Mexican food while in San Antonio. Judge me not.
You might find it amusing that I managed to trigger the security alarm as I passed through the scanner at the airport. Which resulted in the much feared pat down. I’m just going to assume that it was my industrial strength underwire bra that was the culprit. I should have just set the girls free before the flight. When the security agent hollered, “FEMALE ASSIST,” I knew I was in trouble.
A very nice and pleasant TSA employee escorted me and my belongings over to a tiny carpet that had an outline of feet on it. She asked me if I would like to be patted down in a private room and I assured her that indeed I did NOT. The public exposure somehow comforted me. How bad could it be in public?
She explained in detail what she was going to do, and she carried it out efficiently and quickly. I did not feel violated. I do understand the increased security. I mean, if some stupid guy can hide a bomb in his underdrawers, I can only imagine what my underwire could contain.
I’m also pretty sure that most TSA employees are getting a bad rap in the press, due to the negligence of a few.
I have stories from Texas to share, and they’ll be forthcoming throughout the week. In the meantime, I cannot wait to throw my arms around my 3 babies, who likely will have grown another inch or so since I’ve been gone.