**Diary Entry – 12th June**
I’ve always made it my business not to inconvenience others. Yes, I’m a larger woman—I’ve had health struggles for years. But to avoid drawing attention, I always buy two plane tickets. My space, my choice. It’s not indulgence; it’s consideration—for myself and fellow passengers.
That day was no different. I settled into my window seats, put on my headphones, and braced for the flight. Everything was fine until *she* boarded. A proper stunner—slim, long legs, fitted jeans, and a cashmere top. Hair like she’d stepped out of a shampoo advert. Everything about her screamed, *I’m flawless*.
I ignored her until she paused beside me and snorted. “Disgusting.”
I lowered my headphones. “Pardon?”
She glared like I was a stain on her perfect world. “I’m not sitting next to *you*.”
I took a breath. “No one asked you to. Both seats are mine. Here are my tickets.”
“How can anyone let themselves go like that? Ever looked in a mirror?”
The words stung—I’d heard them before, but never so brazenly, trapped in a metal tube at 30,000 feet.
“I have a medical condition,” I said evenly. “And I don’t owe you an explanation.”
I turned to the window, praying she’d leave. Instead, her voice grew louder, drawing stares. “People like you shouldn’t even be allowed to fly! It’s unnatural!”
Something in me snapped. Trembling, I pressed the call button. The stewardess—tall, no-nonsense—arrived swiftly.
“Is everything alright?”
“No. I’m being harassed.” I showed my tickets. “She’s demanding my seat and insulting me.”
The stewardess hesitated, then eyed the “flawless” one. “Madam, may I see your boarding pass?”
Turns out, her seat was three rows back. She’d just decided she *couldn’t possibly* sit near me.
Politely but firmly, the crew told her to return to her seat. She rolled her eyes, ranting about “slim discrimination”—until the captain intervened.
“You’re being offloaded for disruptive behaviour,” the senior attendant said.
She turned pale, screamed threats, but ten minutes later, she was gone. The attendant leaned in as he passed. “Apologies for that. And thank you for your patience.”
Later, they brought me a complimentary slice of Victoria sponge and a note: *You’re stronger than you know. Thank you for your grace.*
I don’t need validation. But I’m done letting strangers dictate my worth.
**Lesson learned:** Courtesy costs nothing. Cruelty? Sometimes, it costs you your seat.
