The Ava Army

I went on a small vacation this past week to the northeast.  The trip required airplane travel and necessitated using the Philadelphia airport. On my way through security, I dutifully removed all of my jewelry, shoes, jacket, the metal in my teeth, etc.  I placed all of this in the on fall color trend grey plastic tub and then on to the little conveyor belt  so the guard could see the feminine hygiene products in my purse.

Next, I stepped up to the metal detector.  I hate the metal detector.  I always feel like an idiot.  I do this stupid thing with my arms that I have no explanation for – it’s kind of like I’ve been told to place them at my sides and six inches from my body.  “Why do you do that?  You look stupid,”  says my soon to be divorced husband.

The metal detector never goes off (except for that time in Miami, sorry about that Miss Unhappy Security Guard) but this time it did.   Beep.  My first thought was that I forgot to remove something metal.  My quick mental check tells me that I’d removed everything except my shirt, jeans, bra and underwear.  Hmmmmmmm, what could it be?

“Can you step forward, maam?” Says a 90 year old security guard.  I say nothing but do as requested. 

“Please put your hands out.”  This confuses me since I’m expecting to be rescanned.  I see Ed out of the corner of my eye tense up.  Which is fair because of the Miami incident.  Anyway – I put my hands out, palms down.

“Palms up.”  I turn my hands over and the guard uses a Q-tip to swab both palms twice.

“Wait here while we run the test.”  Test?  What test?  I didn’t study for a test.  Seconds later I hear another beep. 

“Okay.  You’re good to go.”  I step away, confused.  I have never been swabbed at the airport before and I go to the airport a lot. 

“I wonder what that was for?” I say to Ed.

“Perhaps you touched something you weren’t supposed to, you know how you are.  Or maybe it was punishment for that stupid arm/hand thing you do.”  Ed is such a funny guy.  But he won’t be laughing in divorce court when I obtain custody of his extensive 30 year old ratty rock ‘n’ roll T-Shirt collection – will he?  Anyway . . .

The Internet says they swab your palms at the airport to see if you’ve been handling materials to make explosives.  Let me assure you, everyone who knows me knows I don’t look like I’ve been handling materials to make explosives.  Materials to make cake and cookies – yes, explosives –  no. 

I was still disturbed by this and was telling the boy who lives at my house the story for the 10th time when the truth of what had happened came to me. 

“They were stealing my DNA!” I exclaim to the boy. 

“Why?” he asks. 

“To clone me.” I say. 

Boy rolls eyes.  “Mom, no one would clone you.”

Mom rolls eyes.  “Sure, they would.”

“Nope, they most certainly would not.  Why do you think anyone would purposely clone you?”

“To make an army.” 

Dead silence for a moment. 

“An army of you!?  For what reason would anyone want to do that?”  He seemed appalled.  “If they were going to make a clone army, they’d use a Navy Seal’s DNA, not yours.  That is unless they needed an army of shoe buyers, then they might use you.” 

“So, you don’t think they stole my DNA at the airport in Philadelphia ?”

“No, mom, I don’t think they stole your DNA at the airport in Philadelphia.” 

Maybe not but here’s what I think – I think the boy might be right, they are cloning me into a shoe buying army so that we can take over the world by depleting every other nations supply of footwear.  The Navy Seals can’t do that undetected.  You can’t fight a war in socks – now you can you!  Genius.