Dear diary,

This weekend I am laying low; spending time with my family near Miami, Florida.  You might assume that this post will be in regards to the sunny weather and the hot beach bodies!  Or if you know me personally, you probably think this post will consist of the embarrassing and bizarre events that seem to follow me everywhere I go—do people remember my “DANCE” audition??… well this trip is no exception.

I could write about the peroxide blonde, leather-skinned, Floridian elderly lady who was a HOOT at the Florida panthers hockey game; I could also humiliate my boyfriend by describing our unique skills while at an early morning tennis clinic; which consisted of us and six ridiculously drunk fifty year old women… I could even focus on my dad’s INSANE eagerness for me to become a pro tennis player– you know it’s an obsession when your earliest memory is of working on your swing… and twenty-five years later, he hasn’t led up.

Instead,  this post isn’t about the trip… but about the process of getting there.  Travel day is never a fun day for me– it leads to so much stress and anxiety…

And nothing is more stressful than going through security– not only do you have to wait in those looooong lines,  take off your shoes, and fight for space for all your belongings on the security belt… but you have to go through the new security scanner…  I love the the old fashion metal detectors– quick and painless!  I was grateful when arriving to the security gate to the see that although the line was long (what else is new) it was a single line leading to my old friend (yes, machines can be friends)… but unfortunately my joy was short-lived… before I knew it, the line was cut in two and I was led to “the SCANNER.”

Am I weird, or do you tend to think about whose behind the scenes looking at your body through the scanner?  I do.  I’m wondering who they are– is it a he or a she?   Is he a young, “George Clooney” type working dilligently; or a seinfeld’s “Newman,” glutton-like slurping on a milk-shake?  I wonder, are they laughing?  Is that cookie I ate earlier affecting my sexy x-ray? Can they also see my underwear underneath?  hmmm… maybe I should have worn my lacy undies instead of the boyshorts… Whoever they are– they are seeing me NAKED and I feel like it’s my duty to liven up the show–

As I walk over to the machine and get into position– my legs spread eagle and my hands positioned in a flashdance pose in front of my face-  security yells “don’t move” and I freeze, flashing a smile and a wink.   At this moment, I’m feeling FREE, CONFIDENT and just oh, so COOL… of course this would be the moment where my nightmare is realized and I plummet back to earth… my comfy, waist-tie sweatpants begin to losen and slowly but steadily decend towards my knees exposing my not so cute undies… without the “okay” from security, I’m afraid to move, giving more than “the guy behind the curtain” a show… just my luck.

One minute feeling cool and sexy… and the next….

OOPS. I’m just a weirdo.

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  1. steve abraham says:

    That is exactly how I feel about flying. I hate the security part. That is probably why I have not flown in about 12 years now. Have a good trip and give my regards to your mother and father.

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