When I grow up, I want to be a TSA AGENT.

I believe that I would be an excellent TSA Agent. My searching abilities are top notch; I know the ins and outs of every one of my Mommy’s (the WORST!) teeth INCLUDING that secret retainer on her bottom teeth that she tries to hide. Sneaky Mommy, but she can’t fool me!

My interrogation techniques are also superb. No need to teach me hair pulling, bitch slapping, eye poking or scratching (TSA Agents use all of those, right?) I am a MASTER. I’m also a great good cop/bad cop (both.) I go in for a sweet kiss and - NOPE - biting. Those terrorists won’t see THAT coming.



I am also incapable of being reasoned with. Oh, you don’t have your baby’s birth certificate, but she’s clearly a newborn and therefore shouldn’t have to purchase her own seat? NOPE. Those are the rules. Oh, I haven’t napped all day and am clearly exhausted and will feel much better if I fall asleep? NOPE. Not sleepy and you can’t make me. See? Completely unreasonable.

In conclusion, I cannot wait to grow up and put my skills to use. TSA, look for my application in 17 years and 4 months. Until then, I will continue to hone them by abusing, I mean practicing on, my Mommy (the WORST.)