If you weigh upwards of 200 pounds, you should choose a profession that doesn't require that you repeatedly waddle your giant ass up and down a two-foot wide aisle to serve peanuts and drinks. All I'm saying is that I didn't particularly enjoy the repeated stretch-polyester caresses to the face that my aisle seat so generously provided.
If your breath smells like dead animals, try not to sleep with your open mouth pointed directly at my wife.
If you have a cough that sounds like you are expelling pink, wet chunks from your chest cavity, at least cover your pie hole when you cough. And after you cough, please wipe the saliva off your mustache. Better yet, shave that shit off. I realize you're a stocky, 60-something italian woman, but razors are cheap. Just sayin'.
If you are obese, and sitting next to me, don't just assume it's ok with me to raise the armrest between us. I will slam that shit down hard, because it's the only thing keeping you from spilling over into a seat that I paid good money for. Also, it's not my fault that it requires five minutes of strenuous activity for you to un-wedge yourself from your seat to allow me to go to the bathroom, so don't act all exasperated. Here's an idea -- skip the in-flight meal once in a while.
And keep your sausage fingers off my reading light and air control.
Under no circumstances should you "make yourself comfortable" by taking off your leather loafers immediately after the jet leaves the runway. Especially if you are sitting directly behind me and have been walking around in Arizona all day wearing no socks. Next time, please realize that your feet smell like a rancid combination of parmesan cheese, garbage juice and unwashed ass, and refrain from jamming them so far under my seat that the smell comes up in front of me.
And lastly: Walk to the left. Stand to the right.