I am cheap and have an unusually high tolerance for being squished against strangers, so I rarely spring for a seat assignment when I fly. But when I do get to choose, it’s window, every time, no debate. I like to lean my head against the wall, pull my hood over my face and pretend I’m a burrito being gently rocked to sleep (in a cradle that smells like gasoline and feet). It’s very comforting. My husband, on the other hand, prefers the aisle, because he has a serious medical condition called “ants in his pants” and cannot go an hour without getting up to “stretch his legs.” (Translation: wander the galley making small talk with strangers.) We’ve been married a long time and have never once resolved this. Turns out, we may not need to! According to flight attendants, we were basically doomed to pick these seats from the start. And, apparently, we’re not even the weird ones—it’s shockingly common for couples to sit slight...
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