Attention Burglars: The rest of the clan, including the pack of vicious attack dogs, is staying home.
As you read this, I am squeezing my hindquarters into a seat designed for hind-eighths.
Turns out airline seats are the only place where long-term dieting has been successful. Since the 1970s the width of airline seats has shrunk 2.5” (14%) and the length has shrunk 4” (12%). For the record, American tushies have moved in the opposite direction. And even those of us with less than average length of leg are feeling the knee squeeze.
The government—seeing An Important Opportunity—decided to do something about the lack of breathing room aboard aircraft. There was a proposal (I am not making this up) to get the Transportation Department to require minimum seat spacing. Since the Transportation Department can’t issue regulations to make people more comfy, the clever legislators proposed the regulations based on safety concerns (I am still not making this up).
Basically, they said that no one’s proven that people can get out of microseats quickly enough, that narrow seats can cause air rage, and that the current spacing may lead to deep-vein thrombosis.
Other legislators voted to issue pry bars to every passenger to ensure they can get out of the seat whenever they wish.
All of this legal maneuvering turned out to be for naught because the proposals (there were two of them) were defeated in committee the other day.
So now I am about to shove a mom-size body into a seat designed for a three-year-old. This is one of the times in life when I am glad to be a short-ish sized human. However (what with Murphy and the Laws of Nature) I am sure I’ll be sitting next to human the approximate size of a sweaty hippopotamus.
And there will be more than one screaming baby. Sitting right behind me.
At least in a few hours I’ll be in sunshine and oranges.
Assuming that the flight is on time.
Yep. I’m laughing too.