1 Thing I Learned About Flying.

As most of y'all know, I'm not a good flier. (As evidenced by my prescription for a sedative for flying only.) And by "not good", I mean, I avoid it at all costs. I never want it to prevent me from going anywhere, but I doubt I'll ever be a lover of travel and will only fly when absolutely necessary. 

It's just not worth it to me! Sure, I'll suck it up, pull up my big girl pants and slurp down a Valium, but you'll never find me salivating to hop on the nearest plane and jet away at frequent intervals.

Nope. Not me.

Which in turn, makes me one inexperienced flier. Like, I stand in the terminal and look this way and that, reading signs, trying to decipher which line I should be in and finally giving up and asking the nearest uniformed employee where in the heck I should be.

It also makes me not real savvy about security, appropriate attire and TSA pat downs.

Here's one thing: when I do fly, I fly in comfy clothes. If I could hop on a plane in my jammies, robe and slippers, I'd be a happy camper...but I believe they frown upon that in airport terminals, so instead I reach for my yoga pants and stretchy shirts.

Just so happened that I had a birthday shortly before we flew to Mexico. One of my birthday presents was an adorable pair of yoga pants from NYandCo with some sparkly decals on the back waistband (cute, not trashy) and a super cute shirt with sequined letters on the front. Across, ahem, um...you know...the girls.

Picture this: There I was, in the security line, my belongings on a conveyor belt in a little gray tub, and the x-ray vision tube thingamajig in front of me. I step into the tube, raise my hands all "I got this. I totally look like I know what I'm doing.", and step out to the young security man cordoning me off and telling me I had to wait for a female security guard.

Gulp.

Then he casually mentioned..."Are you wearing anything glittery?" Um, yeah dude, as I peek down into my hoodie at my sparkly shirt and remember the bling (remember, cute, not trashy) on the back of my waistband.

"Yes. Is that bad?"

"Nah. It can just set off the machine. You'll need to be searched."

Gulp.

So, she shows up and proceeds to pat me down. When they say "TSA pat down", they mean PAT. DOWN. Yikes. I needed a hug from my hubby when that was over. ;)

In the end, I was deemed safe to fly, no threat to other passengers, and allowed to proceed. Phew.

Let this be a lesson to all y'all...DO NOT WEAR SPARKLY CLOTHES WHEN YOU FLY.

Unless you want to experience all that a TSA pat down has to offer.

NO. SPARKLY. CLOTHES.

You've been warned.