Oh no, please don’t sit here. Not next to me.
As I awkwardly squeeze my way down the narrow aisle, I can feel the eyes of others avoiding mine, almost as if they were trying to avert a disaster. It’s been eight years since my last flight, and after gaining 100 pounds post-baby, I was completely unprepared for the reaction I received, which felt akin to being the star of a circus sideshow.
I tried to cover my figure with an oversized hoodie and loose yoga pants. My friend and I had boarded the plane a bit late because we were indulging in breakfast—classic, right?
There were two seats left. One was an aisle seat next to two petite women in their twenties, excitedly heading to Vegas for a weekend of fun. The other seat was squeezed between a businessman and another passenger who was at least as large as me. Clearly, the two of us weren’t going to easily fit side by side. I opted for the row with the recent high school graduate.
Friends, I genuinely had to shove my backside into this seat, wedging my hips beneath the armrests. As the round businessman next to me struggled to fasten his seatbelt, I attempted it once, then twice, before concluding, “If this plane goes down above 10,000 feet, that seatbelt won’t be my savior.” I tucked the ends under my hoodie pocket and gave a polite smile to the tiny flight attendant as she passed by.
My rather ample (read: grandma-style) arm extended into the aisle just enough that every single person who walked by bumped into me, looking up in surprise as if my limbs hadn’t been clearly in their pathway, and then they would apologize. I responded with a smile that seemed to say, “It’s all good. I have two arms, anyway, and this one could stand to shrink a bit.”
When people talk about “leg room” on planes, they usually mean the space available for their knees. But let me tell you, my thighs and hips are also part of my legs, and Mr. Southwest Airlines, I’m going to need you to make those seats a bit more accommodating for those of us who aren’t built like infants!
That flight was the longest 4.5 hours of my life—excluding labor. I felt uncomfortable and exhausted, and guilty whenever my neighbor shifted in her seat, knowing my right hip had undoubtedly encroached on her space by at least two inches.
Suddenly, reality struck me as my two youthful seatmates poured tiny liquor bottles they had smuggled onto the plane into their complimentary Cokes. I realized I was closer in age to their mother, who was seated behind them, having packed a slew of snacks with smiley faces for her girls, who sported glamorous fake eyelashes and yoga pants that didn’t seem stretched to the limit.
I would have totally packed snacks for my kids (minus the alcohol). When did I become so old? Am I not still 22?! Sweet Mother of all that’s holy.
Then the businessmen started offering us suggestions for Vegas activities. First up: a ventriloquist.
So there it is, folks. I suppose we must look like two grandmas planning trips to the world’s largest ball of yarn or chartering buses to Amish country.
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Summary:
Flying after gaining weight can be a daunting experience, especially when squeezed into a tight seat between strangers. The author humorously reflects on the discomfort of airplane seating and the realization of how much time has passed since her youth, all while navigating the challenges of modern air travel.
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