A man kept manspreading into my plane seat for hours—when he returned from the restroom, he shouted, “What the hell did you do?!”
I was sixty-one and five foot two and flying on my own to meet my first granddaughter when the man next to me decided that half of my seat was his.
Big across the shoulders, about fifty, expensive half-zip, loafers.
And before we had even left the stand his knee was about four inches over the line.
I moved towards the window.
And he spread out further. For no reason at all.
“Excuse me. Could you move your leg a bit?”
And he looked down at me and actually laughed.
“Look at the size of you. You don’t need all that.”
I thought he was having a joke.
He was not.
And for the next two hours his thigh was against mine while he had the armrest and his jacket over the divider and one foot in my footwell. Every time I edged away I ended up twisted against that window.
