I'm in Hawaii right now with the Taylor clan, our first full day, in a pretty spectacular house, right on the lava-rocky shore just north of Kona. It even has a nanny's room, teeny, small bed, just off the garage and with entry basically in the kitchen. Lucky nanny! Pics of the house later, though.
The outfit that I chose for flying here was one that I've flown in before, but over a year ago--a dark turquoise jersey maxi dress, sleeveless, over a t-shirt, with a cashmere hoodie and flip flops (easy to remove for security). "That looks like a great travel outfit!" said K, and I, naturally, agreed with her.
Until I stepped through the security gate and got pulled aside.
"Female assist needed," called the woman watching the gate to see if I set off any alarms. "No alarm, targeted search," she said to the woman who answered her summons.
I was led off to a plastic mat in an open space and told that I was going to be stroked, basically, from crotch to ankle (well, she could see my ankles so she didn't have to go that far--as if that's the part I was concerned about), front and back, each leg.
I was asked to stand with my feet shoulder width apart, and point each foot out, in turn, while the woman (who had put on blue gloves and was holding that white flannelly thing) ran her hands down my legs over my dress.
She was very professional about the process, and I felt mostly not uncomfortable. Something tweaked me, though, about her being able to see my ankles, and I said "I should probably just wear pants next time, huh." And she looked up at me and said, with a hint of wry humor, "Yeah, that'd probably be a good idea."
So much for trying to bring back up the standard of air travel attire.
