Off came her shoes, and with them her socks, revealing cute bare feet, and she shimmied her sweatshirt over her head which pulled her thread bare retro t-shirt up till it hooked and clung to her bra, and her still wet-warm-morning-shower-hair smelled baby fresh, so thick, the blond ends dangling midway down her bare back coaxing the eye to survey the beltless top of her loose hip hugging blue jeans, and she answered, yes, I think so, when I asked if my laptop should be separately binned, her words pumped full of air, sent into space tangled in smoke from a Crown Royal Whiskey night spent listening to hits from, The Best of Dean Martin. She was one in ten million. Ill search high and low before Ill find a scene more erotically charged, more slow motion, more Angie Dickinson from A View to Kill, than what unraveled a foot in front of me this morning at the check-in for my flight to Albuquerque. I didnt realize you practically have to undress before theyll allow you passage onto a plane these days. Its a good thing mind you, and mind you, yes, George Bush has said it, but not too many others, that is, weve not had another killer terrorist strike since the big one, and had it not been I was dizzied by the fetching gal ahead of me, Id still be stunned at the thoroughness of the once over they put me through today before boarding the plane. There she was, looking and smelling and simply being hotter than a pepper sprout stewing in a pot-o-lava, waiting for the drab grey bin carrying her little socks to appear from the x-ray scanner, conveying itself to her spot in line. There she was, a foot from me, folding at the waist, straight legged, using the palm of her hand to pad airport carpet dirt from her clean white soft powdered feet. There she was, smiling at the thought of, well hell I have no idea what she was smiling at, but I could dream , and I did somewhere over the Rockies. There she was, re-dressing at blowing in her ear distance (her socks and shoes on, her sweatshirt tied around her waist, her still damp hair flowing in concert to the beats of her heart). There I was trodding, stocking footed through the x-ray doorway that used to beep at my belt buckle and steel toed boots, making me look and feel like a man, with working hands, the kind a Kathleen Turner voiced girl would like (Body Heat Kathleen Turner), a man for which sporadic beeps sound from the steel in his libido alone. Now we strip before we go through the x-ray doorway, our boots and belt buckle dismissed by the x-ray bin. There I was most definitely invisible to the beautiful girl. Looking on the bright side, the folks checking to make sure none of us are going to blow-up the plane, are so very nice and so very good. I cant remember the last time I read or heard so much as a pin being found on a passenger. I dont fly often, but when I do I look around at my fellow passengers and cant understand why more crazy people arent doing more crazy crap as we fly the friendly skies. The friendly skies indeed in no small part because of the gang at the Burlington International Airport who assure our flights are safe. I say thanks because your job is thankless. You stand there saying, take your belt off, your shoes, put your laptop in a separate bin over and over and over, and so few of us strippers say thanks or even look to you with a smile, let alone tell you what a fine group of a well honed unit of workers you are in your uniforms, uniforms that probably itch. The job you do is very busy, often, often its not, which are times you might find yourself nodding off, and if you do nod off, for even a split second, you might miss the one in a million person who sneaks aboard with a pocket knife hidden, with the sole intention of cutting a flight attendants pinkie finger, just to get his or her mug on MSNBC and CSPAN. I know youre awake during your shift looking for dozens of those type things and thousands of others that Im not the slightest bit aware of, that could cause havoc to the nation. Im aware you are doing a hell of a job simply because; I dont have to be aware of anything but the girl ahead. Thanks again.