In all the trip, my luggage didn't get searched, but as I was going into JFK to come home, my shoes got sniffed. I was sure, as he ran his little chemical patch in and around my red Converse high-tops, that it was merely a prelude to having me open my bags for the same treatment, but no. My theory is that my feet looked too small to be real, and therefore might have been false feet stuffed with explosives. But once the shoes had gotten a clean bill of health, I put them on and was on my way.
Xiombarg is doing her best to weld herself to my lap. I'm so inconsiderate - I keep wanting to use my arms and hands!