I’m Carly. I’m 32, and I live in a body the world feels entitled to comment on. I’m obese — not the “cute nickname” kind — the kind people openly judge.

That’s why, when I fly alone, I always buy two seats. Not for comfort, but for peace.

On a recent work trip, I paid $176 for an extra seat. As I settled in, a couple showed up and took the empty seat.

“I paid for both,” I told them.

They laughed. “Seriously? Just for you?”

Then came the insult: “You’re being a fat jerk.”

I let it go. But once in the air, I made sure to claim my space — elbows out, chips out. Eventually, the man complained to a flight attendant. She checked the records and confirmed: the seat was mine.

He was moved. His girlfriend sneered, “Pathetic.”

I reported the comment. The crew filed a harassment report.

Later, I got an email: the couple was flagged, and I received 10,000 bonus miles.

That flight reminded me: I don’t owe anyone smallness. I deserve space — and next time someone tries to shame me for it, I’ll be ready.