Pandiculate.

Pandiculate. Pand-ick-yule-ate. Pandiculate.

Martin had wanted to use that word for some time. A friend had made him aware its existence a while ago, explaining its meaning as the act of stretching, or yawning, or both.

Pandiculation is to pandiculate.

The urge to use pandiculate in conversation overwhelmed him. Casually using a word as refined as that would give the impression of a huge vocabulary, which Martin considered to be a good measure of intelligence. He was waiting for his moment.

The moment came when he was talking to a work colleague. The colleague was Stephen, a tall, good-looking, thirty-something guy whose white shirts always appeared fresh out of the packet. Martin was shorter than Stephen, less traditionally attractive and he did not own a shirt less than two years old. He wanted to assert himself. During their conversation, consisting of small talk and small words, Stephen mentioned something in passing about tiredness.

Martin saw his opportunity. He could barely contain himself. Stretching his arms over his head and faking a yawn for extra effect, Martin said to Stephen with a smile: “Hey! Excuse me while I…PANDICULATE!” He said ‘pandiculate’ extra loud for effect. There was no response from his colleague whatsoever and his attempt to impress fell flat on its face.

Luckily, Stephen died in a car crash later that week so the embarrassment was fairly short-lived.