After the angst of preparing for our week in NYC and feeling wretched from trying on clothes, I experienced almost childish glee as we settled aboard the small jet on the first leg of our trip.
We had to sit side-by-side because all of the 1-seat portions on the regional jet were full. My love never complained about my hips impinging on shared arm rests, but I always felt bad for taking up more room on our trips. This time there were inches to spare around me as I plopped down, and the seat belt had way more (see childish) than 6 inches left after buckling. Just last February I still required an extender. She was completely unsurprised, “You still expected to not fit after loosing 70 pounds?” Another body re-check for me.
Small victory – wait no it isn’t. No more carrying my extender (I have 2 that I’m willing to give away); no more trying to make myself invisible as I lumber down the aisle; no more glances from other passengers that imply, “Please, god don’t put her next to me”; no more avoiding flight attendants’ disapproving glares; no more fear of flying.