Tinfoiled Again

Flying out early tomorrow for Papa’s haunt, Key West.

A question he never considered on his many travels. My flight spans breakfast and lunch (DC-Buffalo-Ft. Lauderdale… don’t ask, it was cheapest). The airlines have decided they can hide value by disappearing a reasonable meal from the fare.

If it were me alone I’d tighten the belt and just go, swallow my spit to keep hydrated and reward myself with lime-soaked mojitos on arrival. But I can’t tell the six-year-old to do that. So I made him up a whole grain, cheese-mustard-apple sandwich.

Now—how to wrap it?

Will the goons at TSA object to tinfoil? Will they consider my son a threat with his foil wrapper? Will they eat his lunch?

I decided not to risk it. There I am with my tired end-of-week hands quartering sandwiches and wrestling with ClingWrap, which clings to everything it shouldn’t and fails where it’s needed most. I hope it’s worth it. I hope the sandwich holds up.

I hope TSA doesn’t torture us tomorrow. Will a tinfoil hat help?

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