Greetings from Prague! I’m here for a week visiting an old friend and I may jet over to Germany and/or London, too. Hey, when in Rome Europe! I’ve already spotted a place called Vodka Bar, so I feel right at home.
Anyway, my trip overseas was smooth sailing, er, flying except for a small setback when I connected at Heathrow airport in London. And by small, I mean huge. Hugely humiliating. Let me begin.
I try to bring my beloved Tom’s toothpaste with me when I travel so my mouth can stay so fresh and so clean clean, but it is over the 3 oz. limit (frowny face). Well, when I was packing yesterday in a rush (as always), I threw it in my carry-on suitcase without thinking. I got from Atlanta to London just fine (in your face, TSA), but had to go through security again in London and they were extra strict about liquids and gels. I had a bad feeling about my toothpaste and sure enough, they pulled my bag for a check.
After waiting rolling my eyes and tapping my foot impatiently for about 10 minutes (no exaggeration), an agent wearing a turban finally took the time out of his busy, standing-around schedule to check my bag. As soon as he opened it and began taking stuff out, I pulled the toothpaste right out of the top pocket in a “Here, are you happy now?” fashion in hopes this strange man would stop rooting around in my personal belongings. No such luck. He proceeded to take every single item out of my suitcase, most of which were bras and underwear (I packed them last so they went in the carry-on). So that was fun.
Then I saw it: My vibrator. And I went weak in the knees.
Now please let it be known that I don’t usually travel with a vibrator. In fact, I have never traveled with one before, but Kate got me the cutest, little JimmyJane for my birthday and, because A) It’s so compact and B) It really doesn’t look like a vibrator at all, I tossed it in while I was packing. To be honest with you guys, I was thinking of writing a blog entry about “untraditional travel must-haves” and thought it might make the cut, so I wanted to see how it fared overseas.
The man picked it up, looked it over for a few seconds, and placed it in the bin with the toothpaste.
Oh hell no, I thought. If that’s the throwaway bin and he’s planning on tossing my brand new pocket rocket, shit’s going to hit the fan.
After he took every single item out of my suitcase (pink, lacy underthings and all) and laid it out for the world to see (embarrassing enough)…he picked up the vibrator.
I thought, If he asks me what this is, I am going to die right here on the spot.
And then…
“Ma’am what is this?”
I wanted to yell, “You are wearing a turban! I think you’re more of a threat than me and my sex toy!”
I’m sorry, you guys. That was really out of line. But I was feeling irrational.
So I answered simply with all the pride I could muster: “A vibrator.”
He looked slightly confused. I felt a little faint. And then he asked me to turn it on.
And that’s when I actually died.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but you guys, I had to TURN IT ON! The memory still haunts me. It buzzed. People stared. I think I saw a few people laugh. He was satisfied and sent me on my way, pocket rocket in hand.
Lesson learned. The vibrator goes in the checked bag from now on.
LYLAS,
Ashley