While airport security is definitely a pain in the tuchis, I usually get through it without much hassle. I take care to remove any jacket or sweater before it’s my turn to put stuff in those plastic bins. I don’t wear shoes that have to be tied. I pay attention. And mostly I try to behave like I’ve got an iota of sense in my noggin. Thus, it is fine.
I set off the beeper. I have no idea why. The lady upon whom the honor of waving a sensor wand thing about my person was bestowed said that sometimes the underwire of “big girls” can set them off. Never happened before, but fine. I will concede the huge knockers point.
Then she made me sit down and she used her hands to feel the pant legs around my ankles and all over my feet.
All suspicious eyes she says “Whatcha got in your socks there?”
“In my socks where? Just feet! That’s all I have in there.”
“No, what’s on the bottom of your feet?”
“Oh” I say, and to hide my shame I make a joke. “Those are just my cloven hoofs.”
Ok fine. Make me admit it. Out loud. While David is sniggering at me.
“Those are my gross foot callouses.” Sigh. “Sorry.”