On a 14-hour flight, I treated myself to a premium economy seat—extra space, extra peace. Or so I thought.

A man next to me leaned over and asked if I’d switch with his wife, who was seated in regular economy. “We just got married,” he smiled.

“Congrats,” I said, “but unless you’re refunding my AU$1,000 upgrade, I’ll stay put.”

I figured that was the end of it. It wasn’t.

He started fake coughing, blasted the in-flight movie without headphones, and spilled crumbs onto my seat. Then his wife came up and sat in his lap, smirking at me like she’d won.

I calmly pressed the call button. “Hi,” I told the flight attendant, “these two seem to think this is their honeymoon suite.”

After hearing the list of offenses, the attendant turned to them and said flatly, “Please return to economy.”

Peace… for an hour.

Later, the bride shouted she needed the bathroom, ignoring the seatbelt sign. The attendant, unfazed, replied, “Take your seat — or I’ll call the air marshal.”

They backed down fast.

When we landed, I walked past the sulking newlyweds and said, “Hope you learned something. Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon.”

Moments later, I saw my wife and child waiting. That’s when I truly felt first class.