Gossamer.

To the hairy armed man next to me on the plane…

I could tell you wanted to strike a conversation with me shortly after I managed to fumble my way to my seat that just so happened to be connected to yours. I don’t like conversations with strangers. This is no way because of the fact that you’re much older than me. I just don’t like talking to strangers. I teach my children not to do it so it’s slightly hypocritical if I do it, ya know? I made a point to make zero eye contact and even when you apologized for ever so softly kicking my bag of goodies, I looked down and told you it was fine. I promptly opened my tiny box of ear planes. (Guys, have you heard of these? My MIL told me about them and I am in love!) I put these magical little pieces of unicorn matter into my ears and almost every sound was gone. I picked up my kindle and quickly began to read. I figured you had gotten the point.

Why do your arms have to hair long enough to touch me? Every time I moved in the slightest I felt this tickle, but to me it was like nails on a chalkboard, and it was your hairy arms! I wanted so badly to ask you to stop moving but that wouldn’t of been nice. But honestly, would shaving them be so bad? I mean, what woman likes that?

I spent the entire flight trying to keep my arms and elbows inside my arm rests but somehow your freaking arm hairs still reached me!!

I was about to panic, just straight up turn and tell you to cut your hairs, then the pilot said we were descending.

We land and even though I put my headphones on you started talking to me.

I tried to talk and be nice but all I could do was look at your arms. Those hairy, Gossamer looking limbs of yours.

I’m sorry you felt nervous with the turbulence but I am glad you didn’t express that while in the air and I hope you never do. The person beside you- me- would’ve had a panic attack. That’s not good for anyone. You are a nice man, thank you for being nice and talking while waiting to get off the plane. But please, for the love of, shave your arms.

Sincerely,

The overly tattooed young lady next to you who hates being touched- even by hair.