I Almost Threw Up on the Plane When the Obese Woman Sitting Behind Me Put Her Dirty, Smelly Bare Foot Right on My Armrest. When I Asked Her to Move It, She Laughed and Said, “My Feet Need Air. If You Don’t Like It, Sit Somewhere Else.” I’d Never Seen Such Shameless Behavior. I Decided to Teach Her a Lesson, and Soon the Entire Plane Was Laughing at Her. But When I Discovered Who That Woman Really Was and Where She Was Flying, I Wished I’d Never Done It… My name is Mary. I’m 63 years old, a mother of two and a grandmother of three. That day, I was flying from Chicago to Los Angeles to visit my daughter. It was my first long trip alone since my husband’s death. We had already been flying for four hours when I suddenly felt something warm and damp near my elbow. I looked down and froze. Five bare toes were resting comfortably on my armrest. At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. But then I noticed the horrible smell. I turned around. Sitting behind me was an extremely overweight woman who appeared to be about 55 years old. Her enormous belly almost completely filled her seat, her legs were spread wide apart, and her short pink T-shirt barely covered her body. She was holding a large bag of chips. Empty wrappers, napkins, and food scraps were scattered across the floor. The woman, whose name was Linda, was listening to music through her headphones and constantly chewing something. “Excuse me, could you please take your foot off my armrest?” I asked politely. She removed one earbud. “My foot isn’t touching you.” “But it’s on my armrest.” “My feet need air.” “Then let them breathe in your own seat.” She smirked. “This is an airplane, lady. We’re all sharing the same space.” Then she glanced at my other hand. “Use your other armrest and leave me alone.” I stared at her in disbelief. Linda smiled, put her headphones back on, and deliberately wiggled her toes. Ten minutes later, her foot was still in exactly the same place. When the airplane hit a little turbulence, her dirty toes brushed against my blouse sleeve. I turned around again. “I’m asking you one last time. Move your foot.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Lady, it’s just a foot. You’re talking like I put it in your dinner plate.” Susan, a woman of about 60 sitting next to me, twisted her face in disgust. “That’s incredibly rude.” Linda burst out laughing. “Both of you need to relax. At your age, you shouldn’t get so upset over every little thing.” At that moment, I decided there was no point in arguing anymore. “Fine,” I said calmly. She smiled smugly, convinced she had won. Twenty minutes later, Linda fell asleep. Her bare foot was still just a few inches away from my elbow. I stared at that foot for a long moment. Then an idea popped into my head. I leaned toward Susan. “Will you help me? If she wakes up, just keep her distracted for a moment.” “What are you planning to do?” I whispered my plan into her ear. Susan’s eyes widened. Then she covered her mouth to keep herself from laughing. “Mary, are you seriously going to do that? You’re incredible!” I smiled. In less than a minute, everything was ready. About forty minutes later, Linda woke up, stretched, and stood to go to the restroom. She had taken only three steps when a man sitting across the aisle looked at her and burst into loud laughter. Then another passenger started laughing. Then several more. Even the flight attendant stopped in surprise. Linda looked around angrily. “What’s so funny?” Nobody answered. She looked down. Her face immediately turned bright red. Then she spun toward me and screamed: “WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?” But at that exact moment, something happened that suddenly silenced the laughter throughout the entire airplane… Read the continuation in the comments

“I can’t lose it. Please, help me.”

The woman who had been laughing so smugly just minutes earlier was now sobbing uncontrollably.

Concerned, I stood up.

“What have you lost?”

“My little blue envelope. It was here. I’m absolutely sure.”

The flight attendant asked nearby passengers to check the floor.

Susan helped Linda sit down.

As Linda leaned forward, a small metal pendant slipped out from beneath her shirt.

I picked it up.

Inside the pendant was a photograph of a little girl.

“Is that your granddaughter?” I asked.

Linda looked at the photograph and began crying even harder.

“She’s my daughter. Her name was Emily.”

I didn’t understand why she had said was.

“How old is she now?”

Linda closed her eyes.

“She was eighteen when she died.”

An unusual silence fell over the airplane.

I felt my heart tighten.

Linda struggled to continue.

“Fifteen years ago, she was in a car accident. I raised her all by myself. My husband left us when Emily was only two years old. She was my entire world.”

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