**Diary Entry – 14th March**
I’ve always made an effort 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 responsibility. It’s not indulgence; it’s consideration for myself and fellow passengers.
That day was no different. I settled into my two window seats, slipped on my headphones, and braced for the flight. Everything was calm until *she* boarded—slim, leggy, in tight jeans and a crop top, hair like she’d stepped out of a shampoo advert. Everything about her screamed, *I’m flawless*.
I barely glanced her way until she paused beside my row and scoffed.
“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 exhaled slowly. “Good. These are mine—both seats. Here are the tickets.”
“How can you let yourself go like this? Ever looked in a mirror?”
A familiar sting. I’d heard it before—on the street, in shops, online—but never so brazenly, trapped where I couldn’t walk away.
“I have a medical condition,” I said evenly. “And I owe you no explanation.”
I turned to the window, hoping she’d leave. Instead, her voice rose. Passengers stared.
“People like you shouldn’t *be* on planes. It’s unnatural!”
Rage boiled under my skin. Trembling, I pressed the call button. The stewardess—tall, poised—arrived swiftly.
“Is everything alright?”
“No. I’m being harassed.” I showed my tickets. “She’s demanding my seats while insulting me.”
The stewardess blinked, then studied the other woman. “Miss, may I see your boarding pass?”
Turns out, her seat was three rows back. She just *had* to announce she “wouldn’t sit near *that*.”
Politely but firmly, the crew directed her to her actual seat. She rolled her eyes, argued, whined about “skinny discrimination”—until the senior attendant arrived.
“Miss Spencer, by the captain’s order, you’re being removed for disruptive behaviour. Please gather your belongings.”
She paled. Shrieked. Threatened lawsuits. Ten minutes later, security escorted her off.
As we taxied, the attendant leaned in. “Apologies for that. And thank you for your composure.” Later, they brought me a free dessert with a note: *You’re strong. You’re worthy. Thank you for your grace.*
I don’t need validation. I’m just done living by others’ standards.
**Lesson:** Courtesy costs nothing, but cruelty can cost you your seat—and your dignity.
