The Man Behind Me Used My Airplane Seat as a S0ck Drying Rack

“I’m sorry?”

“Lean forward, lady. Problem solved!”

“This is my seat.”

“And those are my socks. You’ll survive!”

He put his headphones back on.

I sat facing forward for several seconds.

I was 42 years old.

I’d survived a broken washing machine, two teenagers, and a neighbor who practiced the trumpet at seven every morning.

But nothing had prepared me for a grown man treating my headrest like his backyard clothesline.

I didn’t know his name.