I haven’t flown for a while. I have no idea what regulations have been loosened and what new ones have sprung up like mosquitoes in May. I’m pretty sure we’re allowed to bring measles on board now. Maybe we can leave our shoes on in TSA if we show our titties. For all I know, corduroy trousers are prohibited unless you have enough of a thigh gap that you can’t start a fire by walking down the aisle. It’s hard to keep up.

Specifically, I wanted to know if I could bring sunscreen on board, and if so, how much.

So I googled it and found a Transportation Security Administration site with every damn thing listed. The search bar was not helpful and it looked like I was going to have to plow through page by page…fifty of them.

The first item that leapt out at me was Antlers. I was startled. I shouldn’t have been; I should have expected the list to be alphabetical.

Still, the whole concept of packing antlers in my luggage is mildly upsetting. I only just learned how to roll my pants into little burritos and stack them in the carry-on, and was feeling pretty proud of myself, and now this. Antlers aren’t even squishy when they’re new. A little fuzzy, tops. Best I could do in a luggage situation is make some precision holes for the pointy bits, and except for the fact that it would make your stuff real recognizable on the carousel, there wasn’t much upside. And in any case the proper placement of antlers is on the front of the duffle bag, the way you’d put them on the grille of a truck.

But may you bring antlers in your carry-on? Yes you may. You can forget about your bowling balls and pins though. Modern airplane security is no match for a terrorist who can pick up the 7-10 split. Cowboy spurs are fine (window seat only) but cattle prods are not. Apparently it’s been tried. Similarly, guns are frowned on. Seems obvious, but three years ago someone tried to smuggle one on board inside a raw chicken. Raw chickens, incidentally, do not make the list, even though they could easily contain more than 3.4 ounces of liquid during a long enough flight. The armed poultry perp was a Florida man, so the presence of the raw chicken itself did not send up flares.

Harry Potter wands are fine, but you cannot bring a foam toy sword on board, or a Magic 8-Ball. You can’t bring anything with more than 3.4 oz liquid and the 8-Ball clocks in at 3.6. Hand sanitizer (yes), hand warmer (yes), handcuffs (yes), hand grenades—dang, we were on a roll, there, but it’s a big Nope on the grenades. Cell phones are fine unless they’re the exploding kind. Recreational oxygen is not allowed. I didn’t even know oxygen could be recreational. Tamales and tampons both pass muster, even though, in my experience, half the population can be effectively terrorized by a woman brandishing a tampon in a post-insertion condition.

There’s something freakishly specific about the 3.4 ounces. I do not know if it’s scientific and corresponds to an exact number of moles in a solution with aggressive tendencies, or if it is a deal worked out with the manufacturers of travel-size plastic containers.

At last! Sunscreen. Sunscreen is fine as long as it is (guess what) under 3.4 ounces, which is enough to cover my neck frontage. Such a tiny amount of sunscreen. Do I look like someone who would know how to make a bomb out of a dab of SP-70? No I do not. Do I look like someone who was first in her Chemistry class? No I do not. I was, though.

Doesn’t mean I know how to make a bomb.