Sometimes I Really Hate Flying

Why do the fat people have to sit next to me on the plane?

I'm not a skinny person. In fact, I am far, far from it. BUT, I fit into my airplane seat without infringing on anyone else's space. Unfortunately for me, I can't say that about the lady who sat next to me on the plane yesterday. For four hours, I had her leg fat oozing under the arm rest and touching my leg. I didn't realize it at first, but then I noticed that my leg was really warm. When I looked, it was because our legs were touching.

To make matters worse, she hogged our shared armrest. Not only did she not ever give me the opportunity to use it, but her arm was significantly wider than the arm rest and much of it spilled over into my space. Poor Carter, I was leaning over into his space the entire time so as to minimize the amount of me touching the stranger sitting next to me.

Now, I've got nothing against fat people (many people would even put me into that category) and I'm sure they are extremely uncomfortable flying in the teeny tiny seats on airplanes. But I cannot stand being in physical contact with a stranger. Especially constant contact for 4 hours.

I definitely have some degree of claustrophobia. It's not so much induced by lack of space but rather lack of PERSONAL space. In college, I would zip myself into my suitcase just to show that I could do it (OK, so I'm strange...this should not be new news to you) and this confined space did not bother me because it was only me. BUT, put me in a crowd or have someone stand behind me really closely and I start to lose it. I find myself having to consciously think about my breathing, taking big, slow breaths and thinking calm thoughts.

I'm sure you all have travel horror stories. Send them to me...I would love to hear (read) them. Maybe if enough people submit stories, I will pick a "winner." Of course, since this is not a sponsored blog, you will win nothing more than my deepest sympathy (empathy?).

See if you can top this one: I once flew from Vegas to Detroit where I had to sit next to a huge sweaty man. This man smelled as if he had been up all night at a casino drinking and smoking. He was sweating profusely and was so fat he needed a seat belt extender. AND, get this!, he was "reading" a dirty magazine. So gross.

Now top that.