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I've been flying for a long time. When I first started traveling on planes, I had no concerns about security procedures. Never even gave it a thought.

I began to take along my own snacks rather than eat the salty, greasy junk the airline offered. With the apples and oranges I carried, I'd bring a small kitchen knife for peeling and slicing. Nobody ever stopped me. Even later, when most such items were removed routinely by airport personnel, I continued carrying the knife. Then one day, on a trip home from Paris to what the French called "Fort Lodderdadle," an airline employee spotted my knife and confiscated it. When I cracked up laughing, the man asked what was so funny. "It's about time!" I told him.

Security measures increased. I experienced a pat down for the first time boarding a cruise ship. This was serious business, I knew, and was not annoyed with the ridiculous failure of judgment that could label somebody like me a terrorist.

Once we were traveling north to attend my son's engagement party. At the last moment, a friend stopped by to give us a gift for him.

"Sorry I can't come," she said, "but tell him I said mazel tov." She handed us a large, beautifully wrapped package tied with a giant bow. "Don't put it in your luggage. It's breakable."

We tried to carry it aboard but it set off the security alarm immediately. Shunted off to a table on the side as other passengers went through, we watched a man in a uniform begin to unwrap the package. When asked about the contents, we admitted that we had no idea what it was. The bow got ripped off, the paper torn, the carton opened, as we argued in vain.

"Do I look like a terrorist?" my husband asked. "Does she?"

"Mister, do you want to get arrested?" The man glared at us and we shut up.

The gift was a piece of crystal -- lead crystal -- and had triggered the alarm. We carried the gift to New York, the wrapping pasted together as best we could with tape, in a shopping bag.

We learned to check the contents of packages before attempting to take them on planes.

On subsequent trips, several pairs of my manicure scissors and two of my husband's Swiss army knives were confiscated before we got smart enough not to carry them on trips. At least I thought we were smart enough. I can only speak for myself on this. I had no idea that my husband continued to carry a Swiss army knife when we traveled as he did at all other times.

One year, when a big hurricane devastated South Florida, another threatened to follow it. Rather than sit out the second hurricane, we decided to escape. Hastily we threw some stuff in a bag and tried to get tickets out of here. Everything was booked.

My son managed to get us tickets to New York from Jacksonville, but first we had to get there from Boynton Beach. Gas stations were closed, traffic lights were not working, and we had two cars with little gas. Undaunted, we rented a car with a full tank of gas and drove it all the way to Jacksonville on the one tank of gas. Then we went through security before getting on the plane.

As soon as our carry-on bag went through the screening, we were stopped. They saw something in the bag. I knew what I'd put in. It had to be something of my husband's.

"What did you put in there?" I asked.

"My Swiss army knife," he said.

"Again?" I sighed. "So give it to them."

"It's a little one," he said. "They won't find it."

They rummaged in our bag and did not find it. We were asked to back away from the counter. The security person proceeded to remove everything in the bag, one piece at a time, in full view of the other smiling passengers.

"Give it to them already," I hissed.

He shook his head.

I will not enumerate the very personal items that were in that bag. Use your imagination! At that moment, I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. I was utterly humiliated.

Eventually they came to the knife and took it. Then we were allowed to replace everything. By that time, my face was red as a beet and I had tears in my eyes. When we finally got to the waiting room and found seats to await our flight, the tears vanished and the redness was anger, not shame. After a few well-chosen words, I did not speak to my husband again for two days.

Now we do not carry items that could be confiscated. Manicure scissors and Swiss army knives are expensive.

However, we are faced with something new. Some airports reputedly have X-ray machines that see us without our clothing. We have reached the age when we look better with our clothes on than off.

Is any trip worth this new humiliation? If I come to the airport with a mask on, will I get through security? Just how far am I willing to go to get on a plane?

I'm thinking it over carefully.

Toby Rosenstrauch, an award-winning columnist, lives in Boynton Beach, Fla.