From time to time I have dreams of Peyton Manning pulling me into a power hug while in a confined space such as a small kitchen or an elevator in a second-tier Las Vegas resort. And in that moment, when my head is pressed firmly into his larger-than-life, Superbowl-winning, Hall-Of-Fame, most-seasons-with-at-least-4000-passing-yards, chest cavity, I feel all my worries completely disappear.
I am magically comforted in a way I have not yet felt in the real world. I am comforted in a way that says, you are safe, you are cared for, and, you are going to go down to the ten-yard line, catch this screen pass, and run it in for the touchdown.
In my dream, the hug only lasts briefly, and I never get a close look at his head because I’m so engulfed in the thick, rolling landscape of his torso. But once he leaves, I find myself looking for him throughout the rest of the dream. I’m desperately trying to re-create that moment, trying to get a bit of privacy in my parent’s kitchen and/or the elevator at the Dusty Dunes Resort. But alas, there is always some chain-smoking gambler coming between us, and/or my mom asking if Peyton is excited about the Fall draft line-up.
So I wake up from these mercurial dreams with a deep sense of longing for that comfort, that security, and the golden opportunity to see his disembodied sternum one more time.
I woke up this morning wondering if I were to find him somewhere, somehow, and craft the most, un-stalker-y letter imaginable, would he be receptive to my meager request? I could casually mention I sang the National Anthem for a few of their games, including an AFC championship and by the Transitive property, would humbly state I was a contributing factor to their wins.
Now I know math has become a tricky subject, especially if you’re racist. But let’s assume everyone here is not, and that we all believe in some basic principles we can agree on, such as simple algebra, the existence of gravity or, not wanting to be interrupted by a phone call during dinner.
So the Transitive property states:
And in my case:
Coaches were superstitious so they hired the same person to sing the anthem who sang it at their previous winning game. (me). I then sang at the AFC Championship, which they also won. Therefore, according to the Transitive property:
Nina Singing = Maintaining Superstitions
Maintaining Superstitions = Wins
Nina Singing = Wins
So after I point out to him that we pretty much played on the same team together, I could kindly ask him, “Since it’s been a rough few years, do you think I could get a hug at your earliest convenience?”
However, on the off chance this doesn’t work, I might need a backup plan.
So I guess what I’m trying to say is…
Woman desperately seeking torso. All applicants welcome.
2 thoughts on “Woman Seeking Torso”
I am one of the lucky ones that still have a torso albeit it has over seven decades of wear and tear—not too soft though. My hugging opportunities have gotten quite slim due to social distancing and stuff. Now it seems as though people are more amenable to sharing hugs but I am still lacking.
If you ever want a hug from a 71 year old man who is blind and lives in Colorado Springs, well then I would like to apply for that position. I have it on good authority through multiple praises of different people that I am a good hugger.
Thank you for your consideration.
Is this a first-come, first-served situation? If so, kudos to Erik. He seems like a gentle soul with a fine torso.
– Xenu rules