The bomb in the baby carriage is wired through the FroYo

Last week, I learned that watermelon-scented lip gloss may be used to hijack an airplane. Or else the TSA is a secret subsidiary of the Estee Lauder Corporation, which, personally, I'm starting to suspect.

Our flight to Maui left at 6 in the morning, so of course Paul and I were at JFK by 3:54 a.m. Paul insists on getting to the airport several hours before a flight, which is an entirely new experience for me. Before Paul (B.P.), I was accustomed to running through airports as if being chased by a tiger, usually still wearing my clothes from the night before, no matter how inappropriate for international travel that sequined skirt may have been. Most of the time, I got to the gate only seconds before (or after) the door was sealed.

Paul likes to leave early for the airport, in case there's a line at security, or if we run into traffic, or if the taxi gets a flat tire, or if we get caught in a sudden blizzard (in July) or if aliens choose that particular morning to make their presence known on earth. This time, we got there so early, the security people hadn't even arrived. Unfortunately, neither had any of the people who open up the shops that I never knew existed at the airport, because I used to run past them so fast.

So I thought we were prepared. We knew that all liquids were forbidden in carry-on bags, in reaction to the attempted hijacking in London a few weeks ago. So I'd checked and double checked my bags to make sure I didn't have any shampoo, hair gel, or liquid nitrogen, which, like most women, I usually carry arond in my purse (but you can never find these things when you need 'em, right girls?). It's bad enough to have to go for 12 hours without my can of flammable acetone (it's a kind of security blanket; never mind).

Anyway, I thought I was in the clear. Then, going through security, my bag set off an alarm. I assumed it was my firearm, or the samuri sword I like to carry around for good luck. But no. After 15 minutes of searching, the TSA agent uncovered the contraband. It was a Juicy Tube.

"Yeah, this has to go," said a TSA agent, looking at me as if I were a sick criminal mastermind.

"But - but! It's neon pink!" I was on the verge of tears. It was my favorite. "And scented!"

The Juicy Tube glosses all smell like some non-specific, wholly imaginary fruit. That is, it smells how we imagine fruit would taste in a cartoon version of the Universe, in the way that "grape" bubble gum has nothing to do with the taste of an actual grape.

Trying to reason with the TSA agent, I was careful not to use the word "bomb," because I've heard that they can detain you for even using the word in a sentence, such as, "Do you seriously think anyone would make a fruit-flavored, hot pink bomb? I've heard of a sex bomb, but this is ridiculous. Who would do such a thing? The Mary Kay Liberation Front?"

Then, things got even worse.

"Sorry. This, too." That's when I saw it. The TSA agent was holding my tube of Lip Plumper. As if in slow motion, I watched as he put it in a little basket for things that must be Taken Away.

"Noooooooooo!" I said, sounding a bit like Darth Vader at the end of the latest Star Wars movie.

"But - but! It cost $42! Plus tax!"

This seemed to confirm his worst suspicions. As if anyone who would spend $42 (plus tax!) on lip gloss is clearly capable of doing very bad things.

Of course, Lip Plumper is a substance that seems to arouse suspicion in most men, even men who don't work for the TSA.

Those of you (yes, both of you) who read this blog might remember how excited I was to get my tube of 24/7 Lip Plumper, which, according to Paul, makes me look like I've been eating goat meat, which may or may not be a bad thing. I have to confess that of all the things in my bag, this one might actaully include ingredients that might be used to make a primative (yet stylish!) bomb.

At least the female TSA agent was a bit nicer about it. She gave me the look that parents sometimes give their kids when the family's incontinent, temperamental Rotweiler is about to go "live on a farm."

"Don't worry," she said, "we have lots of them in the back." I think she meant that I wasn't the only one who lost lip gloss that morning, but it was little consolation.

As we were leaving security, it occured to me that I had just lost over $60 worth of lip gloss (plus tax!). For a brief second, I wondered if it was karmic punishment for spending my money on such frivolous things. This might have been an opportunity to re-evaluate my fundamental values and priorities. Instead, I went to the first shop I saw and bought a new pair of sunglasses, even though I had two other pair with me. It felt pretty darn good.

We changed planes at Chicagao O'Hare, where things got even weireder. It was an 8 and a half hour flight, so I asked the lady at the gate if we could bring food on the plane.

"Food, yes. But no yogurt."

Ah, that'll show the terrorits! The crafty folks at the Department of Vaterland, I mean, Homeland Security saw through the plot to make an explosive devise out of a FroYo.

Before the boarding call, the same airline employee, a bewildered-sounding middle aged woman with her security badge attached to a Chicago Bears neck string, made the announcement to all the passengers.

"Yeah, ahhh ... no beverages allowed on the plane. You can bring food, but no beverages. And no yogurt. And no, uh ... uh ...."

In the dead air, you could hear her mentally searching for an adjective meaning "yougurt-like." She and I simultaneously concluded that this word probably doesn't exist.

"... No yogurt-like substances," she continued, authoritatively. "You know. Pudding? Uh ... Jello?"

It occured to me that I had never heard, or expected to hear, the words "yogurt-like substances" over a P.A., in the context of a domestic security warning.

And, at this point, all passengers had passed through security, where they had theoretically been stripped of all hazardous items (e.g., Juicy Tubes). So, the yogurt bomb would have to be an inside job. I guess they're on to "Juan" bin Laden over at the "I Can't Believe it's Yogurt!" stand.

Of course, the real question is: does this make us any safer? Or does it just provide a false sense of security? I mean, really - what percentage of the lip gloss/hair gel/"SweeTarts Squeez Candy Tubes" collected at the airport contain any substances more dangerous than High Fructose Corn Syrup (which is plenty dangerous, but for entirely separate reasons)? I'll give you a hint: it rhymes with "nero."

The fact is, they only scan about half the bags that are checked in, because the airports don't have enough x-ray machines. I would prefer that they divert some of the time and money devoted to the Yogurt Patrol to checking a few of those bags. But then, it wouldn't be a public spectacle, designed to convey a clear message: be afraid. Be VERY afraid. Even harmless things, such as yogurt, are now potentially sinister. Coincidentally, it's almost election time. But I think we've all learned a very valueable lesson: if you don't vote Republican, those bad people with the uranium in their Jell-o Pudding Cups are going to come and kill you and your kids and your grandma and your little dog, too.

Making us get rid of our lip gloss isn't making us safer. It's just making us uglier.

All I have to say is, if the women of America can't even go around with their lips glistening as if they've been eating goat meat - well, that means the terrorists have already won.