A couple of weeks ago, I had the experience of going through airport security, my first time since my hip replacement surgery. I was a bit apprehensive. Would the TSA agents want to see the scar? (No, I didn't have a medical card saying that I had replacement parts in myy body--my doctor told me that any self-respecting terrorist has such a card.)
My hip and I sailed through security. Or so I thought. Then a TSA agent pulled me over and told me that she would have to pat me down. Somewhat smugly I explaiend about my hip. She waved that away. "It's not your hip that's the problem. It's your leg." She proceeded to run her hands over my lumps and bumps until she reached my calf and gave a triumphant "Ahh."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Your pants have a wrinkle in them."
"My pants have a wrinkle?" I repeated her words like a parrot.
She nodded solemnly. "A wrinkle."
I could only stare in stupefusion (stupefaction and confusion). My pants had a wrinkle? There are real terrorists out there and the TSA decides that I'm a threat because my pants have a wrinkle? A middle-aged grandma with bad feet, artificial hip, and dyed hair is a threat to national security?
I wanted to tell her, "You want to see wrinkles? Let me show you my neck!" But, wisely, I remained silent. I didn't want to make the airlines' no-fly list.
A wrinkle? My belly, whose stretch marks have stretch marks, would never make it through security!
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