One Man’s Anomaly
. . . is another man’s fatty deposit.
“I had to get patted down again because of my anomaly.”
It wasn’t a confession, exactly. It was more a baffled observation. My husband works in Detroit, Michigan (for now) and lives in the Orlando, Florida area. He spends a lot of time in airports, on airplanes, and getting himself through security lines run by the Transportation Security Administration.
“What anomaly? What are you talking about?”
“The anomaly in my pants.”
A thousand comments, comebacks, and one-liners rumbled through my head. God bless him, but sometimes my husband makes it tricky to express myself in a dignified sensible way, because there are straight lines and then there are Sherwood’s straight lines.
“Okay, let’s start with your pants. Were you wearing pants?”
“Don’t be goofy, of course I was wearing pants. But those full body scanners can see right through your pants—like superman.”
“Yep, and then the guy looking right through my pants radios the guy making me stand in the x-ray vision machine and says, ‘We’ve got an anomaly.’ That’s the word they use, an anomaly.”
He paused and then shuddered before continuing.
“And then they want to know what I have in my pocket. That’s how they say it, ‘What’s in your pocket?’”
I could feel the thinking wrinkles on my forehead deepen.
“In your pocket? But there’s nothing . . . oh, wait, I’m feel a theory formulating. Are you telling me that . . . no way!”
“Yes. The anomaly in my pocket is actually the fat tumor on my leg, and a strange man has to feel it, after they see it, every time I go through security.”
We were both quiet thinking about the ramifications of my husband having his fat tumor “outed” by the TSA.
“Maybe you can get a doctor’s note explaining your anomaly?” I said. “Or I can write you up a little something?”
So here it is; my husband’s anomaly note:
Dear TSA and Department of Homeland Security,
Please excuse my husband from being felt up by strange men every single week because of his anomaly. His anomaly is just fat. His doctor says its just “one of those things,” and he’s had this pocket or lump of fat for thirty years. It is benign. It poses no threat to national security. It is entirely a coincidence that the fat deposit appears to be living in the pocket of his pants.
Sincerely, His Wife
I believe the fat deposit is the place where all the bacon my husband eats goes to die.
Sherwood and I believe it is important for Americans to know that our government is working hard keeping this country safe by having a federal employee feel up his fatty deposit every week. Rest easy. Sleep sound. Shop freely.
Another reason we made the decision to share our “story” with the world is so Americans with anomalies might know that they are not alone—when the TSA agent comes at them with rubber gloves and a crappy attitude.
Linda (That’s no anomaly; that’s my singularity!) Zern