We followed our suitcases to the check-in place where we got little claim stubs which Timothy stuck in his wallet. I had to show my passport, as did he. That was always a shaky thing since I was never sure if mine was legal or not. My name hadn’t been altered yet, so I was still flying under my maiden name, which Timothy growled over. “We’ll get that changed the moment we get to Paris,” he said. Did American Embassies do that kind of thing?
The guys checked in their own bags, and then, like a herd of cows, we made our way through the TSA line. Of course, we were only flying to Florida. I guess the international document stuff came when we arrived at the cruise ship port. Still, I had to remove my new phone from my bag and lay down my jacket, the book I’d brought, and my purse on the assembly line inspection strip. Luckily, I didn’t have to take off my shoes.
I was wearing a nice pair of chocolate brown trousers with a soft, long sleeved light blue blouse. My jacket was dark-brown denim and looked equally sharp, all thanks to Simone, of course. No jewelry, except the Queen’s gift, which by the way, didn’t show up on the body scan machine. How was that possible? Magic, I guess. It solved lots of problems.
Terry was first in line, and the TSA agent made him take off his shoes. (In fact, all the men had to remove theirs. I guess their shoes were heavier and thick-soled or something.) Bob had orange socks on, which made me giggle. The others had normal black socks on. How boring.
My eyes examined the men’s clothing as I waited, having been cleared by TSA without any problem (in spite of the necklace which I couldn’t take off.) No wonder I hadn’t noticed what everyone else was wearing with everything going on that day. Terry, standing beside me, having also been cleared by TSA, wore a pair of jeans and a black tee. Timothy, right behind me in line, had nice trousers on and a long-sleeved royal blue shirt, which made him look super handsome.
Bob, Daniel, and Ben had copied Terry. None of them, including Timothy, carried jackets. The men would be cold inside the plane, I bet, remembering how the San Diego flight had felt like being strapped into a seat and made to sit inside the freezer section of a grocery store.