Dear Kevin Smith,

Thank you. I'm not the sizeable girl who sat next to you on the second plane (the one who got subjected to some flight attendant's come-to-Jesus talk about overflowing her seat even though the seat next to her was empty and paid for by someone else), but I recognized a lot of the things you talked about, "trying to negotiate a skinny world in a fat body". The pre-screening of empty seats looking for "safe territory", the taking for granted that someone will behave like a total dick towards me today without even maybe knowing my name, all of it. The church lady who slipped me the weight-loss pamphlet tucked inside the "surviving traumatic experiences" pamphlet. (Stop laughing...) The landlord who asked me with a straight face if I'd ever considered liposuction, three months after I moved into his attic. As you were talking, I pictured a slow pan across part of the airline terminal, with the little sample box ("Your luggage must fit into THIS space") right next to an open, vaguely seat-shaped box with a big sign, "YOUR ASS MUST FIT INTO THIS SPACE". Don't kid yourself, dude. It's coming. We need a fat, FUBU-type airline. Soon.