The Horse’s Ass, Missing the Boat…er, Plane, Tweetering, and Other Nonsensical Things: Finale

There was one little detail I left out of the whole airport debacle.

Yep, this little nugget of awesomeness…the new security measure because life isn’t quite humiliating enough.  I had completely forgotten these had been installed at DFW.  We walk around the corner, and low and behold, there they are.




No freaking way.  I didn’t even wear good panties.  My one good bra has the underwire poking out.  Did I mention I was wearing bad panties?  Big girl, granny panties with complimentary holes.  Give me a break, it was THAT time of the month, which brought along another horrifying thought…can they see my tampon string in that thing?  I know my face was bright red, and I looked guilty of something.  Will the TSA agent know I’m guilty of fat girl lingerie or will he/she think I have more sinister guilt?  Would it be bad to just dump my daughter at the security entrance?  I mean she’s 17, almost 18, she doesn’t need me to hold her hand.  Of course, after what I’ve just put her through, I should probably suffer this indignity on her behalf.  Prove my love and all that crap.

Oh jeez.  Here we go.

THE SECURITY AGENT WAVED US ON!  We didn’t have to do the whole body scanner thing!  WHEW!  I could cry.  When I went back to pick her up, I brought my 6-year-old son with me.  I decided that maybe kids operated as some sort of scanner-deterrent.  Just to be safe, I did wear better undies.  Of course, little did I know I would suffer embarrassment for an entirely different reason.

Yeah…I dress myself…so?

That boy, the one in the pic above…The Man-Child…apparently thinks he’s Justin Bieber.  He strutted through that airport like a celebutante.  Waving at everyone (including the security agents), blowing kisses (yes, you read that right), talking to strangers (horrifying…I hate strangers)…at this point, I would have preferred the scanner, bad panties and all.

Speaking of celebrities…I’ve developed an obsession with Twitter, except I keep calling it Tweeter, much to the embarrassment of my teenagers.  It compliments perfectly my obsession with reality TV.  I’m trying my hand at hash tagging, @ signing, the works.  Well, one day my @ signing actually got a response from some Bachelor alums.  I almost wet my granny size panties.  Seriously, I thought I was the shit.  I was @ signed back three times in ONE day!  (Is @ signing the correct term?)  In my mind, I finally achieved my 5 seconds of fame!  Of course, it sounded better when I told other people that I was tweetered by a celebrity, and kept it all vague-like.  Once they found out it was just reality TV celebrities from the Bachelor, they seemed less enamored and impressed by my brief brush with fame.  I sashayed out of work and found myself driving home pretending that every car behind me was the paparazzi trying to get their money shot.  Listen, these little mental vacations I take keep me sane.

On second thought, my son probably doesn’t fall from the crazy tree.

Next stop:  The Vagina Monologue

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