I’m Carly, and I’ve lived 32 years in a body the world constantly comments on. I’m obese, not the kind where people use cute nicknames — the kind where strangers feel entitled to judge what’s in my grocery cart or shame me for existing in public spaces. That’s why when I fly alone, I always buy two airplane seats. Not for luxury — for peace. On a recent work trip, I paid $176 for an extra seat so I wouldn’t spend three hours pressed against someone glaring at me. I boarded early, settled into my window and middle seats, and tried to relax. That’s when a couple showed up — him smug, her sparkling — and plopped right into my extra seat. “Sorry,” I said, “I paid for both seats.” They laughed. “Seriously?
Entitled Couple Stole the Airplane Seat I Paid For—So I Gave Them Turbulence They Deserved
