Expatriates, flakkarar, and other migratories like to recount stories of having misspoken in amusing or embarrassing ways. I remember throwing myself into a cab í miðbæ Reykjavíkur, the culmination of an unnerving late-night chase scene. Ég vil heim, ég vil heim, ég vil heim ein ... I was shaken. I pulled the door shut and then gave my address in the dative, þágufall -- the case of stationary location -- rather than the accusative, þolfall -- the case of motion towards. The driver didn't care. He ignored my error and put his foot to the gas. We spun away out of the downtown.
In the back seat I justified my grammatical misstep to wishful thinking: I had wanted to have been home already.
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