I'm on the move again, and by this stage of my life I'm so used to the security rigmarole that we are subjected when making international travels that I don't even bother getting flustered or annoyed every time I have to remove shoes, scarf, jacket and sort out my liquids for the x- ray machine. I suppose we could thank Osama bin Laden for this legacy adopted by airports all over the world. And his demise, rather than reducing the security measures, seems to have increased them with newer and more sophisticated machines installed to peek through your layers of clothing for undesirable objects. I wouldn't be surprised if those body scanners could tell if you were wearing any underwear or not, though a no doubt a good physical pat down by the security personnel would easily confirm that suspicion.
Yes, things are getting more and more intimate indeed in the security procedure. Landing in an airport in Australia, there is the additional acquaintance with a sniffer dog (a rather cute pooch actually) as the handler instructs us weary and most compliant passengers to deposit all our belongings on the floor (yes, your handbag too madam), while the tail wagging but vertically-challenged canine sniffs around our luggage for forbidden goods with the zeal and professionalism of a secret service agent.
Good thing I already ate that banana I had in my bag, otherwise no doubt it would go straight for my jugular. But all is well. The last time a dog was within my proximity at the customs, I think it was in New Zealand, it was fascinated by my bag for some reason and tried to hump my leg. May be it was a rookie, but the experience was traumatic enough to make me feel leery around big sniffer dog. Fortunately this one is particularly small and I find myself resisting patting its little head.