I was a, um, postmature baby. One month late.
"I must have counted wrong, of course," my mother said. "But at the time I thought 'isn't this baby ever going to come?'"
Strange that it took her 42 years to tell me.
"Once it's past, you sort of forget about it," she explained on the phone, not half an hour ago.
So I guess I can start acting postmature now. Which is sort of like postmodern, only with a bit less ornamentation.
The Swedish word for the day is pondus. I've always felt the best way to translate it is, more or less, with the word gravitas.
- by Francis S.