"Why," she asks as we stand in the queue at airport security, "have you got a golf ball in your jacket? You know we're about to get onto a plane."I have no reply.
"What if it falls out of your pocket? Think of the embarrassment."
I'm thinking of more than the embarrassment. I'm thinking of impending and awful firey death.
"Yeah," I finally say, "It could fall out just as we're coming in to land, roll downhill into the cockpit, get jammed under a pedal... then..."
"What? WHAT?"
"Wooomph!"
"Woomph?"
"No. Wooomph, with three o's. Think Final Destination. On second thoughts - four o's and and extra 'h'. Woooomphh."
The ball goes into my hand luggage.
We survive.
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