Excuse me, dahrlings, but...

Let Me Hear Your Body Talk

The last time my husband took his mistress to Miami, he looked guiltier than a Yemeni operative. Frankly, he deserves Gitmo for that infraction. What a bomb. (With all the silicone gel she’s packin’, it’s no wonder she can make do with a short fuse.)

So if I follow where all the security cruelty is going –  in short order we will have high tech microwave voyeur equipment, cavity searches, bomb powder detection, metal scanners, dogs, and, oh by the way, a bunch of folks will be running around eyeballing the gate for shady body language. The bad guys are worried now! And don’t I know it. My body usually says it all.

You know what I’m thinking? I’m thinking suicidal maniacs financed by global terrorist organizations are insane, not stupid. It’s quite likely they will not hide the next bomb in their underwear (just guessing here). Their watches can probably tell when it’s one hour and five minutes before landing. And I imagine that shifty eyed, sweaty types are not making it past the first interview. Just a theory. 

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