Within minutes, he was snoring.
I sat there, trying to decide whether calling the flight attendant again would solve anything or simply give him another opportunity to be obnoxious.
The teenage girl across the aisle caught my eye.
“That’s disgusting,” she whispered.
Her mother leaned toward me.
“I’d lose my mind.”
“I’m considering it,” I muttered.
The girl giggled.
Her mother gave her a warning look.
“Don’t encourage anybody.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I said.
“Yet,” the girl whispered.
I looked at her.
She smiled innocently.
For the next half hour, those socks swung behind my head whenever the plane shifted.
One brushed my hair again.
I moved forward.
Then I got annoyed with myself for moving forward.
I’d paid for a seat, not a supervised visit to somebody’s laundry room.
I tried reading.
I tried watching my movie.
I even considered putting my jacket over the top of the seat as a barrier.
