THIS IS NOT A BOMB!

I'm thinking of getting lipo-sucked.  Nothing to do with my lumpy, bumpy, not to mention saggy sillouette.  Mostly I don't mind.  Time marches on and gravity will have it's way, you know.  But my "mature" body type has become an embarrassment and agravation when I fly.

 

I know the TSA rules:  Tiny amounts of liquid; nothing metal on the bod (rivets in my jeans once caused a pat-down).  Kick off the shoes, peel off the jacket.  (Ha!  Not anymore, I'm that old.)   Knitting needles, once forbidden, are now legal.  Are they crazy?  Don't they realize what a crazed old lady terrorist could do with a No. 15?  (I, myself, don't bring knitting because it's really hard to keep my pointy, old elbows from harming fellow sardines.)

 

Okay, so what's this got to do with liposuction?  Upon my ancient, but serviceable body, in the area of the rib cage immediately above the belly button lies a collection of excess fatty cells formerly aka a bicycle tire.  Unfortunately, this "tire" of mine has taken the size and shape of a strapped-on bomb.  Yep, for me, it's pat-down-check-for-the-bomb more times than not.   I think you get the drift. 

 

Hmmmmmm?  How about a tattoo upon the troublesome area:  THIS IS NOT A BOMB!  

 

    

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