It’s easy to relate to one of the many convicted criminals in California. Under the state’s "three strikes" law, Santos Reyes has been sentenced to 26 years in prison for lying on his driver’s license application. Unlike many of us, he didn’t falsify his weight — he tried to use his cousin’s name instead of his own. Weights tend to be a murky area on driver’s licenses. It’s no coincidence that when reports go out over the television about criminals-at-large their descriptions usually are "six-foot-one, 180 pounds." How is it that hardened criminals, unable to make wise choices throughout their lives, should all have ideal weights? Could they possibly be lying? Except for age and height, all other facts on driver’s licenses can be matters of fiction and creativity. Age and height are the only statistics that can’t be easily altered with colored contact lenses, hair dye or slenderizing vertical stripes in a person’s wardrobe. The weight listed on my original driving learner’s permit in 1957 was 130 pounds and it hasn’t changed. Although many years have gone by since then, my weight has miraculously stayed the same through childbirths, countless holiday dinners and my own per capita consumption of 3.5 cheesecakes. Changing the weight listed on a driver’s license to what it should be is a low priority on my list of things to do. Arguably, the world has already seen too many changes. One of the criteria for hiring people in the driver’s license bureaus appears to be the ability to keep a straight face when told blatant lies about body weights. Actually, the driver’s license employees seem considerably less concerned with true body weights than the airlines people. Even though 61 percent of Americans are overweight and 26 percent are classified as obese, airplane seats are getting narrower. Southwest Airline’s coach seats, for example, measure 17 1/4 inches wide, according to USA Today. Most airlines are requiring people over 300 pounds to purchase two seats. The obvious question is how they will determine how much each of us weighs. Are they going to check our driver’s licenses, are they going to take our word for it, or are they going to use scales? A worst case scenario would have us trying to unsuccessfully wedge into a seat, only having to be pried out with a crowbar and escorted off the plane. Perhaps the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) people will do the weighing. After all, they already have us stripping down to the bare essentials in front of complete strangers. They already have us at their mercy. "Hey, Pete! Got one here that needs weighing! He’s a big one!" Another shout. "OK. Send him on through." A respectful, yet fearful, hush descends upon the other passengers waiting in line." Step on the scale, sir." "Is he too heavy?" "Lessee. Yup. This is definitely a two-seater! Would you believe 310 pounds?" If the current seat-narrowing trend continues on the airlines, the only people able to fly in our country will be passengers with eating disorders or a few unfortunates, who are unable to gain weight because of their high metabolic rates. The good news about the airlines’ 300-pound limit is that several of them will be offering second seats at children’s prices or with double frequent flyer miles. Of course, those perks might only be available after they’ve gone through the embarrassing business of prying us from our seats with crowbars.