Dear Mr. Manspread,
I do not know your real name, but you were sitting next to me on the subway this morning. I was the person crushed up against the window as your legs took over the two seater. Remember me? I remember you. All 5 foot 6 of you.
You may be a pocket package, but you spread like someone that is 6’5. Oh, and that was my hip that you used as an armrest. BTW – you don’t need to use your entire wing span to read whatever it was on your tiny smartphone, jerk.
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Before you think I am being harsh, I know and expect that you need a certain degree of room to manspread. All I am saying is that one leg could have crept more out into the aisle of the subway so that I could, you know, breathe. It’s not asking for a lot now, is it? If I sit next to you on my journey to work again, I’m hoping we can be better seat mates.
Sincerely yours,
Miss Crushed Up Against the Window
PS – I doubt you’re that big to require that much space between your legs. [Queue eye roll]
