It started off innocently enough. You said a friendly hello while passing your little blue flashlight over my ID and wrote some indecipherable sweet nothing on my boarding pass. I thought nothing of it and hurried along to my flight with nary a glance. But you, TSA, have always been in the back of my mind.

Then the hints started getting less subtle. You made me take off my jacket, but that wasn’t enough for you. Next came the belt, and then my shoes. I guess we all have our own little fetishes.

Now I heard you want to use your $160,000 full body scanners on me. Never have I been more flattered. Enough with the games, TSA. I know you want me, and maybe, if you had the guts to just come out and say it, we start something so strong that not even the ACLU could come between us.

But until then, TSA, let’s just be friends. Or, maybe, if you’re up for it, we could try being friends with benefits, provided the benefit is that no flight I’m on explodes 30,000 feet in the air instead of that you get to see under my clothes.

Weinberg junior Jordan Fein can be reached at [email protected].