The perils of the window seat.

Imagine the horror. This morning I boarded my flight from DC, found my seat (window–I prefer aisle, but you have to pay for those these days) and squeezed into it past a very thin man sitting to my left. Attempting to fasten my seat belt, I discovered it just wouldn’t meet–it was at least an inch shy of encircling the Blarney body. The stuff of nightmares. Beside me, the skinny man was wrapping loops of excess webbing round his emaciated torso. I began to sweat. On every flight in the US, there are mountainous people who have to request seatbelt extensions. Had I suddenly become one of those? I looked down at my stomach and thighs. Blubbery to be sure, but were they really bigger than when I had taken the exact same flight from DC to Dallas only two weeks ago? Then the seatbelt had fitted comfortably. I had set a new personal record: this was weight gain on a scale never seen before. We took off and the hostess came round with the trolley. I declined everything on offer. We landed in Dallas and I passed the Tequileria with my lips pressed closed. I boarded my flight to San Diego and prepared myself for the humiliation of requesting the plus size seatbelt. The moment never came. I was again in the window seat but this time I got there before my row 27 companions. I noticed that the buckle for the window seatbelt is on the left. The buckle for the middle seatbelt is on the right. Mr Skinny had been wearing my buckle, and his wouldn’t stretch to accommodate me. Phewf, that was close. Pass the pretzels please.

About Liz Barron

US Peace Corps Volunteer in Armenia. Permanent address in Washington DC. Deep roots in Northern Ireland and persistent Belfast accent. Blogger,cook, mother, grandma, Scrabble-player and enthusiastic world traveler.
This entry was posted in Crone in America, diet, fat, food, overweight and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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