I chose an exit row seat (12F) and settled in with a book for a recent cross-country flight. Next thing I know, a lady asked me to move to 14D. NOTE: the seat is really 13D; but I I suppose it is in airlines’ best interests to minimize triskaidekaphobic episodes…

Her major selling points: the seat was also exit row, and she wanted to sit with her male traveling partner and her daughter. After a moment’s contemplation, I agreed. I reseated myself, silently grumping next to the large man to my right as his girth forced me leftward into the walkway. Soon thereafter, I received the first of what I imagined would be many, many bumps from passersby, which reminded me why I’d chosen a window seat in the first place…

Ugh…

I then thought about how I’d have felt if I would’ve been separated from my family on a six hour flight, especially given the child’s apparent age. I began to feel better about my small sacrifice and endeavored to ignore any personal discomfort, knowing it would eventually end.

As I relocated my space in the book (When Pride Still Mattered, a biography of Vince Lombardi I highly recommend), a gate agent approached the large man and allowed him to relocate to a window seat further back, ostensibly due to an earlier request (the plane was literally packed otherwise).
I was suddenly free to move about my seat cushion (and out of the walkway)!