Dearest Airplane Jerk -

Dear Airplane Man,

I am not that smart a guy and I may not travel all that often, but I know the rules of the airplane armrest.

I don’t care if you are wearing tan suede sweatpants with matching suede jacket. That only impressed me a little bit.

At the very least, the armrest should be divided with an imaginary line down the middle. Half is yours, half mine.

I don’t care that your wife is sitting across the aisle and she is also wearing a brown sweat-suit outfit with classy, jumbo reading glasses hanging around her neck.

Don’t I, as the rudimentary sitter, have first claim to the armrest? My arm was on that rest long before you even sat down on your quaggy, brown pongee pockets.

I honestly don’t care that your glasses are so brazen and bulky that when I look to my left, I feel like I am underwater.

This is a four hour flight.

The armrest should not belong to someone who’s carry-on bag looks like this:

Forget the armrest. You can have the danged armrest. Please just stop jabbing me in the side. I have tender sides.

I could care less that you have an adorable miniature laptop that you are typing on. That does not impress me. The laptop does not make you important enough to jab me in my frail oblique externals.

I should have pushed that button next to that air blowing thingy and let that less-than-manly attendant give you the what-for and who-what. How would you have liked that?

I don’t care that you ordered a Finlandia Vodka and paid for it with a fifty dollar bill that you had in your “money clip”. Clearly, you are an important man, especially because you had to ask for the little straw.

After two hours, you forced my hand. I lifted up my other armrest and moved my body over to my son’s seat. Yeah, that showed you! In your face, Mister! It’s just too bad that my son asked me what I was doing and to please move back so that he could continue on – playing his Nintendo in peace. That really would have shown your sorry butt.

Seriously, why should I care that what you are writing on that little laptop is a forward to a book called, “How to Succeed in Life” and that your first four generically rueful bullet points are: How to make your money work for you. How to declutter your life. How to love problems. And How to Become your own Favorite Boss.?

I sat in the middle. The middle seat deserves both armrests.

If you are so successful, than why are you flying coach on Southwest? I will not be reading your book.

If you are so successful, than how is it that I can see 6 misspelled words on page one, including the word “sharring”?

So, Mr. Man with drunken wife – as we got off that plane, did you notice that stare I gave you? Yeah, I totally let you have it. My sides may be swollen and sore, but your ego has to be more swollen.

Yours truly,

Cheeseboy