Mint M&Ms, Bunny Fur and the TSA

If Jen were deprived of all senses besides hearing, how would she know that we were in transit -- specifically, that we were flying somewhere together? Easy. My constant requests (demands?) ‘Can you hold this?,’  ‘Hold this please?,’  ‘Can you give me a hand with this?,’ are a dead give-away.

Remember, I pack light. If I could get away with carrying just my relatively small purse, I would. My wee rucksack is packed tighter than a Chinese puzzle box. A Chinese puzzle box put together by programmers thoroughly gone on the kind of world class weed that gets them code writing, non-stop, for days on end. Yeah, the bag is focused.

Given my bag's tweaked, compacted state, I’m constantly needing to deconstruct, excavate, to find important travel stuff. Like my wallet. My passport. Eyedrops. And that snack baggie full of mint and coconut M&Ms that I brought for us to nosh on in flight. Naturally, the most important bits, the M&Ms, are at the very bottom.

Spaz that I am.

Jen -- AKA Most Patient Woman In The Entire Universe EVAH!

Daddy and Me. SEE, don't I look harmless?!

Here’s the other way that Jen can tell that we’re at the airport. I’m always the one to get frisked. ALWAYS! Hell and damnation, I’m this cute, pudgy, middle aged deaf broad. I’m so harmless appearing that I practically squeak with goodness. I’m one Maine barn coat away from being a Bean From Egypt, Maine for dog’s sake!

AND, I make sure I tell the nice, overworked TSA folks that ‘I’m deaf but if you speak slowly, I’ll probably be able to lipread you.’

See, aren’t I helpful?

Inevitably I’m the one who gets to play a bit of the old slap and tickle with the nice airport folk. This last time I had a real first -- something new and just awfully entertaining. Instead of a full body frisk, they just rifled through....wait for it....MY HAIR! Now, this is especially amusing since I don’t actually have much of that good stuff. No luxurious flowing mane here. I’ll never be popped for shampoo model gigs.

My buddy Kevin (RIP) back in college, used to say that I had bunny fur not hair. *sigh* That’s a sadly, accurate assessment.

Why am I always the one chosen for pat down fun? Dunno. I must be bloody irresistible.