Always book the middle seat last. Nobody is going to steal that from under your nose. The middle seat gets the arm rests. They don't mention that in the preflight safety talk, but they should.
A throwback to the early days of human flight, I insist that the airline people affix the baggage tag. I can pick the best seats, but can't deal with two feet of sticky paper spewing out the machine at me.
Always, as we begin our descent, the overwhelming desire to sleep. It makes no difference if we have been in the air for an hour or for four. The descent triggers an irresistible G force increase that pulls on my eyelids. We'll be on the ground in fifteen minutes, I remind myself, you've made it so far. And I fall into the most delicious sleep.