“We call him Prince Big Bulge.”
Last week I was traveling to Brussels. I always get very bored during flights. I cannot get asleep and reading is too boring. I enjoy stalking other passengers, see what they are wearing, guess where they are coming from, where they are going. And if there is anyone interesting sitting beside me I try to start a conversation. This time, right next to me was a guy, around his 30, casually dressed. Everything was plain, almost boring, on him, besides one thing. His bulge. It was enormous. Like these ones you go numb when you come across and are afraid even to think to get inside you. I couldn’t stop starring. I think its maybe the first time that I didn’t speak a word to the person sitting next to me. I couldn’t think of anything to say, I was afraid that whatever the conversation might be, I would just end up looking at his bulge after every sentence. At some point he went to the toilet. I was starring at it the whole time he was walking down the corridor. And I noticed other people were doing the same actually. It’s insane. When we arrived I just had to let my friends. We call him Prince Big Bulge.
Catherine, 38, Brussels.