How best to describe this? On a recent flight to Vegas, I apparently caused a minor emergency at security when my ... I'll get to that.

After getting through the scanner, I waited for the final "okay" to get my carry-on, when a TSA official, very professional, very polite, very embarrassed, said, "I think we have a problem."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Well, I can't really explain it to you, but if you wouldn't mind going through the scanner one more time, it would save us both a lot of time."
"Why?"
"Sir, if you look back at the screen, you'll see what I'm talking about?"
I did.
There, where--as the kids like to say--my package was supposed to be, was an ACTUAL PACKAGE---yellow, box-like, it looked ominous, almost cancerous ... almost like a triggering device.
"What's that?" I asked.
"That's the thing," he said, "probably nothing, probably just a matter of hiking up your pants a little, but I'm going to have to ask you--"
"It looks--"
"Yeah, I know what it looks like," he said. "So, please go through the scanner one more time and, please, hike up your pants. I'd rather not have to--
"I understand."
I pulled my pants up to just under my breasts; I looked like a retired Jew from Boca.

This time, no package.

"Thanks," I said to the official, as he gave me the okay to proceed.

"No, thank YOU."

An elderly woman from Omaha in a wheelchair shouldn't be required to strip for the TSA, nor should its officials wave on through olive-skinned man from Abbottabad who's carrying a hand-made clock. We all have stories about airport security, and yours aren't any more illustrative than mine. A TSA officer named Ted who walks around like he owns the airport is just as annoying as, say, a junior senator from Kentucky who thinks the United States is turning into a police state because Ted tells him to empty his pockets.

Speaking of, looking at the yellow box, hidden in my crotch, I would have tackled me faster than it took the Paul Family to issue a press release calling TSA officials useless gropers.