Dear Man Who Sat Next To Me On My Six Hour Flight to Chicago

Dude. I know life is rough. You and your girlfriend were one of the last ones on board so you got split up. That's no fun and I could tell that you were disappointed.
It sucks having to take the middle seat, I know. I was glad to have a window seat, until you sat next to me, that is.
It's one thing for you to sit down and spread out the way you did. Some folks seem to think they are entitled to both armrests, I get that.
I admit, I was miffed when you decided to put your leg in my space. I thought it was a bit fresh actually.
You seemed nice enough though, so I chalked you up as a clueless dude who doesn't understand the concept of personal space and not a pervert as I first suspected.
But I've got to tell you, man. I've got to tell you. You crossed the line with your obvious decision to board the plane unshowered.
Dude, you stink. You stank. You stunk.
And that is just uncool.
I mean, you looked clean enough but you were ripe. I gagged more than once on that flight.
So thanks stinky, unshowered, loud talking, no personal space guy. You made this journey a 36-year-old seasoned flier's worst flight ever.
It beat the time I flew at five months pregnant and some kid cut in front of me in line for the bathroom. It beat the 12 hour delay on the trip home from Mexico in 1995.
There is nothing worse in life than a stinky man-stranger invading your personal space for six hours.
Jerk.
And I would feel sorry for your girlfriend but she got to sit by clean people for the flight and she should have bought you deodorant a long time ago anyway.
Thanks for the memories.
I hope you got a bubble bath when you finally made it home.