After my first marriage I briefly dated a stoner girl. She was sweet and mild-mannered, her conversation laggy. There was a sleepy micro-pause before each of her replies. She’d spent four years on social security in a Copenhagen squat, smoking pot as a full-time occupation, before moving back to Stockholm and finding a job. Here’s her festival pregnancy story, as I remember it.
“I met Robert from Ringkøbing at the Roskilde rock festival. We got along really well and ended up in my tent together. Weeks later I realised that I was pregnant. This turned out to be a pretty complicated thing. I told Robert and he was really happy. But then his parents got in touch and were totally worked up about it all. Turned out they were farmers and big land owners. They were thinking of the inheritance issue. Anyway, I didn’t want a baby then, and not with Robert, so I had an abortion, and the parents were relieved. But Robert was sad. He wanted that baby.”