I'm going to improve my life! 2

I've been thinking more and more about this male dancer/soundtrack thing.

And I really think this is what I need. Except (there's always an exception) when I'm in an airport.

(Eventually, I'd be so intimidating and famous that I wouldn't be using public airports. But even I've got to admit that the days of private-jetting are at least a year away.)

My arrival at the airport would, naturally, be kick ass. Male dancers in starched uniforms would twirl and glide around as my limo pulls up. One of the dancers would open the limo door. Another would take my hand and help me to my feet.

I'd be in all black with large sunglasses on. Very somber. "She's Leaving Home" by the Beatles would be playing.

The dancers would  almost march alongside me as I make my way to the E-ticket machine. I would reach into my purse for my ID and not be able to find it. Frustrated, I drop to the floor and start throwing things out of my bag. The music would pause as I do the same. One of my dancers would see my ID on the floor and gracefully hand it to me. "Thank you," I'd mouth. I'd get my boarding pass as the music continues.

So far, everything would be working smoothly. Then dancers would have to collect their own boarding passes. 

Good thing I made millions of dollars in my last post, huh?

We'd make our way to the security line. It would be difficult for my men to dance in the cramped line. Plus the power-obsessed security guards would be getting angry. One would place a hand on his weapon.

We get to the tubs. The music is Sia's "Breath Me." Since we'd be busy taking off our shoes and watches, the song seems wasted.

Two of my dancers would forget to put their liquid items in plastic baggies. "But I need my hair gel!" one of them would whine to a security guard.

Once everything gets sorted, the metal detection, of course, would go awry. Some of my dancers would have piercings and metal knee caps. So those boys would have to be frisked.

Meanwhile, I'd be losing my graceful, weepy beauty and gaining angry, frustrated sexiness. This could be good, but the whole point of this particular flight was intriguing sadness. "This Ain't a Scene" by Fallout Boy would be appropriate. So it would play. (Yeah, it's poppy, but you know what? BLOW ME!)

I'd stomp through the terminal. My dancers would stomp and flip and jump in tow. People would stare. Who is this woman in black? they'd wonder. And is she filming a music video?

My dancers and I would find our terminal. Then we'd sit for an hour, drink a coffee and finally board the plane. It wouldn't be very exciting.

On the flight, we'd eat the peanuts and watch the crappy in-flight movie. Well, that's not all true. I'd probably watch a Batman flick and the dancers who got seats near me would peer over and watch with. (It's a requirement that my male dancers love Batman, by the way.)

We'd arrive in LA or New York and be groggy from the flight. But Oasis' "D'You Know What I Mean?" would start playing. And we'd blast out of the airplane like Mafia bosses. The wind would whip my hair around. The dancer's suit jackets would blow behind them. And we'd walk to the baggage claim where we'd wait another half hour for the suitcases.