I’m a working woman, who travels frequently for business (HA!) and was stopped during a security checkpoint due to an anomaly in my groin area.
Frequently means twice and business means I was on the clock, and groin anomaly means bulge between my legs. If I could only be so lucky, ba-da-bum!
Which I have none of, in fact, that supposed anomaly in the groin area. Except pubes. And the squishy extra skin that comes with having 4 kids through the ’90s and the subsequent 12 years of gravity on that said skin.
That’s the bulge.
Which I tried to explain to the friendly TSA agent in Orlando International Airport, when she stopped me after the I see London, I see France, I see your coochie-coo screening process.
TSA (blue latex hand in my chest): WAIT HERE.
ME: Um, we good?
Disgruntled hairy man ahead of me: “DON’T TOUCH MY BALLS, MAN! I’M NOT OKAY WITH YOU TOUCHING MY BALLS, HEAR ME? DON’T TOUCH MY JUNK!”
ME: He okay? Seems upset.
ME: And me? Can I go?
ME: Why’s that guy so pissed off? Man, he’s mad.
TSA: Stand here (Twister type footprints on floor with blue latex finger).
ME: Can I squat? I have a bad back. Is squatting okay?
ME: Thank you! But ew, I don’t want my hoochie-mama near this floor mat. Socks are one thing, but ew ew ew. Forget squatting. I’ll stand. Can I go now?
ME: For real, what’s up? They don’t like my suitcase?
TSA: Your groin.
ME: My crotch?
TSA: There’s an anomaly in your groin area. (slides in with smile and whisper:) Watcha got in there? Anything?
ME: For real??? My groin? Those are pubes baby. And gut. Pubes and gut. That’s all I’ve got.
ME: Well, mostly gut. I saw the 2 hour delay, and went into the bathroom and peeled off my Spanx and back brace and ahhh, the dikes were broken and all was good in the world. Felt so good! Like the oil spill in the Gulf. But I assure you, the only bulge is my freed body parts escaping the Spanx. That’s it. Ha!
TSA: You took off your Spanx?
ME: Did you hear me? Two hour delay! That’s my boss over there: the Spanx and back brace are in my suitcase. I’m not free balling, lady. I put on undies.
HAIRY MAN: Don’t TOUCH my balls! (many, many TSA agents have now surrounded ball man, I assume, to ensure balls are not touched)
TSA: You’re pretty skinny, why do you wear Spanx? And only fat people have bad backs.
ME: Can I kiss you?
TSA: Don’t touch me ma’am.
ME: I’m tall. Not-so-skinny. And my new clothes didn’t fit because – seriously? – no one told me my body would do all this approaching 50. It’s bad enough we had the kids, nursed the kids, and now this? And I can’t exercise because my back is rusting and my ass looked like the moon and I wanted to look good cuz this is a work trip, I have a J-O-B, and that’s my boss, and we’re meeting with these big-wigs here and I’ve got to play dress up and look like I know what I’m doing so they don’t out me as a fraud and then I can’t pay for fancy-pants soccer for my kid or tuition for the smartypants spawn. Do you know what tuition costs? Holy mother of state school! So I put on Spanx, and waa-laa! But seriously, Spanx? Did you ever try those things? Ridiculous! They suck the gut right in and the air right outta you, and for a 2 hour delay? No friggin’ way. Not a chance I’m wearing that contraption a minute longer: crater ass or no crater ass. Did a strip tease the handicap stall; I’m sure you guys were watching. Oh my God?? Is that the problem? You saw me peel this stuff off? Lemme tell you, it’s SPANX. And the back brace is velcro — it’s cuz I have a broken ass. Or leaking ass, or something is leaking from some disc in my lower back, which really means ass but no one says ass, they say S1sub something. These days everything is leaking, you know and —
TSA: Please stop.
TSA: Yes you. Come with me.
TSA: I have to feel your groin.
TSA: Yes now. We’ll get a room.
ME: What, no drinks?