Twenty-Three Years and One Day Ago

On a sweltering evening twenty-three years and one day ago, my parents went to a summer house party, and they danced on a cedar back porch as my dad sang along with the Too Fat Polka.

Now, you might think that this is just a clever (true!) story I'm using to segue into some announcement such as, "On a summer morning (late morning, around ten-ish; I've never been an early riser) twenty-three years ago, I was born. Cue the bells and whistles." But it's not. Well, not entirely.

No, on a sweltering evening twenty-three years and one day ago, my father called his very pregnant wife fat, and yet we all lived to tell about it. Now that is a truly noteworthy occurrence.