Ex(tra)pat Down

Every now and again I receive mail indicating I may already be a winner of amazing fortunes. With the exception of the door prize that I won at The Price Is Right in the early 90s, most of my ‘winnings’ have been nothing but fanfare.


Thus, the when I arrived at the airport to return to the United States of America, I wasn’t too excited when the TSA informed me of an amazing opportunity soon to come my way.


“You’ve been selected for a special screening,” she said with a smile on her face and then yelled, “Female!”


I was guided toward another female TSA agent who had paired her uniform with blue protective gloves.


“I’m going to give you a pat down,” she informed me and preceded to pat me in places that had not been patted in some time.


Once that was done she grabbed a swabbed wand and began ‘collecting’ information from a few of my extremities.


A few minutes later she gave me a nod to indicate that I, an expat of sorts, had been granted permission to return to my country of origin, without incident.


At this point it was too late to turn around, grab my suitcase and live in YumYummy’s basement forever more.


This was my opportunity to enter the country as my forefathers had and make a name for myself.


Not wanting to waste any time, I immediately found a coffee shop. When they asked for my name I thought about it for a minute and realized this was my opportunity.


“Pat, Expat,” I proudly advised.

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