When a rude passenger refused to remove his bare foot from my armrest, I gave him an unexpected pedicure while he slept. He was furious afterward, never suspecting that we were about to meet again.
Four hours into an overcrowded flight, I felt something warm graze my elbow. I glanced down and found five bare toes stretched across my armrest.
Then I caught the smell.
I twisted in my seat. The passenger behind me was around forty-five, with an expensive watch, headphones over his ears, and his shoes abandoned beneath his seat.
“Excuse me. Could you move your foot?”
He lifted one side of his headphones.
“Let them breathe.”
“It’s not touching you.”
“It’s on my armrest.”
“My feet need to breathe.”
“Then let them breathe in your own seat.”
He gave me a smug little grin. “It’s an airplane. We’re all sharing space.”
He glanced at my other arm, apparently convinced that his comfort mattered more than mine.
“So use your other armrest and don’t bother me.”
He replaced his headphones, wiggled his toes, and I faced forward.
Ten minutes later, turbulence sent his toes brushing my sleeve. I turned back.
“Seriously. Move your foot.”
He let out a dramatic sigh, as though I were the unreasonable one.
“Lady, it’s just a foot. You’re acting like I put it on your dinner plate.”
The woman sitting beside me wrinkled her nose.
“That’s disgusting.”
He chuckled at us both.
“You two need to relax.”
“Okay.”
I decided that arguing any further would accomplish nothing. He clearly thought he had won.
About twenty minutes later, he drifted off to sleep, leaving his bare foot only inches from my arm. A mischievous idea occurred to me. I knew perfectly well it was ridiculous, but after his repeated refusals, I was in no mood to be accommodating.
I glanced at my seatmate.
“Would you mind blocking his view if he wakes up?”
Her eyebrows shot upward.
“Why?”
I leaned toward her and quietly explained what I had in mind. She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, you’re actually doing that? You’re my queen,” she whispered, winking at me.
The man was snoring. She leaned closer.
“By the way, I’m Diane,” she whispered.
“Rebecca.”
“Well, Rebecca, this is officially the most entertaining flight I’ve ever taken.”
He remained oblivious.
“Just promise you’ll warn me if he wakes up.”
Diane nodded gravely.
“Consider me your lookout.”
I reached beneath the seat ahead of me, retrieved my carry-on, and eased the zipper open.
I’d been away for five days on business, and my eight-year-old daughter, Megan, was expecting a special present. She adored Barbie and just about anything pink. A Barbie-themed beauty kit in a gift shop was the perfect choice.
It contained six pink polishes and plastic rings with giant imitation gemstones. A few stones were almost as big as golf balls. I planned to surprise Megan that evening, but borrowing a few pieces seemed harmless.
I took out the brightest polish. Diane admired the bottle.
“Oh, this is going to be beautiful.”
“Just make sure nobody sees.”
She screened me from other passengers as I leaned toward his foot. Carefully, I brushed a coat of hot pink onto his big toenail.
He didn’t move.
I worked across the other visible nails, choosing a different pink shade for each one. Diane shook with silent laughter.
“You’re surprisingly good at this.”
“Eight years of having a daughter who thinks every weekend is a spa day.”
With the painting finished, I chose two toy rings: one crowned with an oversized pink diamond, the other bearing a glittery purple heart. I slipped them onto his toes, trying to keep my hands steady as Diane watched in delighted disbelief.
“I cannot believe he’s sleeping through this,” Diane whispered.
