I  hear that if you want to fly on an airplane this holiday season, you must either subject yourself to an X-ray strip search or, if you refuse, endure a drastic physical pat down.

By drastic, I mean that areas of the body which as recently as last week were naively referred to as “the privates” will be systematically “felt up,” to use another old-fashioned phrase.

Will being felt up by airport personnel make travelers feel violated?

1) No, as long as the examiner doesn’t exhibit unprofessional facial expressions or make any smart remarks.

2) No, as long as the examiner doesn’t exhibit unprofessional facial expressions or make any smart remarks, is dressed as a medical doctor and is wearing a stethoscope around his or her neck.

3) No, as long as the examiner doesn’t exhibit unprofessional facial expressions or make any smart remarks, is dressed as a medical doctor and is wearing a stethoscope around his or her neck and is authorized to write prescriptions for Xanax.

4) Yes.

If you suffer from modesty, say the authorities, don’t fly.

Amtrak, Greyhound and Adirondack Trailways aren’t implementing these security measures. In fact, if you are traveling by bus or train this Thanksgiving and someone posing as security tells you that you have to undergo a pat down, you should report it to your driver immediately.

Of course, if you insist on carrying firearms and/or weapons of mass destruction in your underwear over the holidays–which we do not advise — after all, the holidays are a time of peace and family fun — you would be better off driving your own vehicle. That is, unless you are also an illegal alien, because you could get stopped at a police checkpoint and have to show ID.

Most of us, except for my friend Evonka, feel that as far as airport security is concerned the X-ray machine is the lesser of two evils. But just how does this X-ray machine work, and what does the viewer (or voyeur, in French) — who, we are led to believe, is installed in a little basement room — actually see?

We want to believe this person is alone,  because if two or more people were down there together, they’d be elbowing each other and whooping it up when our image comes on the screen.

“Whoo hoo, Fred, get a load of …”

Yes, but, get a load of what, precisely? How far do the X-rays penetrate?

Because, paradoxically, the more the X-ray reveals, the less intrusive it is. Security is welcome to see our bones, while sparing us any unsolicited would-be medical advice–“Hey, lady, you better get that checked out”–but not to look at us naked (although Evonka says she doesn’t mind). Does the image look sort of abstract and scientific, or like a bad snapshot?

Superman could have just zipped around to different airports, using his X-ray vision to identify terrorists who were trying to conceal explosives in their underwear. Then, with a single bound, he could capture them and deliver them to the authorities. But you don’t see Superman around these days.

Which is a pity, because his super powers would really come in handy, since not every airport is equipped with the new technology. My friend Evonka says — but maybe she is just spouting off — that she hopes the Albany airport will have the new technology by Christmastime. She plans to insist on the pat down.

“Not really, Evonka?” I protest.

“Yeah, baby!” she says, rolling her eyes.

“That’s disgusting. Anyway, you said you and Beaumont were in love,” I remind her, but Evonka just smirks and says “Yeah baby! What Beaumont doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” like she’s so hot.

Meanwhile, I’m driving Evonka to Stewart’s in Keene, and I interrupt her (“Yeah, baby!”) to point out flashing lights up ahead on state Route 73.

“It’s a police checkpoint!” I yell. “Is my inspection sticker out of date? Is my registration expired? Is my seatbelt unfastened? Am I drunk?”  No on all counts, Thank heaven. I roll my window down.

“Seatbelt check, ma’am,” says the young officer, waving me on.

“That’s outrageous!” Evonka is furious. “What is this, a police state?”

Have a good week.