I wrote this story, years ago, back when my low-carb weight loss was still new to me. Like many life-long yo-yo dieters, I had yet to develop the conviction that this time is different, and that I might once again re-inflate. The shorts in question were 4 sizes too big for me then, more so, now, though I’ve long donated them to Goodwill.
You know the drill. Before you get to the gate to board your flight, you must remove all electronics and metal, shoes, wristwatch off, double-check your pockets, bags, and finally, pass through inspection – like a mini-colonoscopy. Anyhow, flashback a couple of hours earlier, where I’m dressing for the day. My only pair of shorts is my now way-too-loose shorts. Slap on a belt, and I’m fine-ish, right.
Well…
There I am, converting into Mahatma Gandhi to get through inspection when a TSA agent helpfully reminds me; “and your belt, too.” Unthinkingly, I unthread the belt and queue “Moon River.” Um… My hands grab hold of my gravity-obeying shorts.
Houston, we have a problem.
Now, don’t forget, you must hold your hands overhead for the full-body scanner. By now, it’s clear that I decided to wear my dad’s shorts. I see beads of sweat form on the forehead of every TSA agent watching my exam. (Yea, they’re human, too.) I spread out my legs, and shove my belly out as far as I can, and assume the pose. I hear a faint “ding” as they steer me out of the scanner. Of course, we’re not done, yet. I think there’s one Don Rickles reincarnated as a TSA agent, who insists on a pat-down. Really. “Sir, you better grab those shorts tightly, no one wants them to drop.” Thank you, captain O.
The good news is my shorts didn’t drop. The public and I are relieved at this. I scramble to rethread my belt before I re-acquire every other earthly possession to end this abomination.
Now onto my flight.
Oh, by the way? I never fit so comfortably into airplane seats as I do now.