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About Strasbourg

But real talk—sometimes it’s awkward as heck. You’re there, butt up, tryin’ not to giggle or fart—lordy, the struggle! How’s that workin’ for ya, huh? I reckon it’s a gamble—good hands, you’re golden; bad ones, you’re countin’ ceiling tiles. Oh, and don’t get me started on the cost—$100 for an hour? Sheesh, I could buy a dang tractor for that! Exaggeratin’, sure, but it stings.

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Then, I get a call from my buddy, Pierre. He’s at the café on Place de l’Église, and he’s like, “Dude, you gotta come! They have the best croissants!” I’m like, “I can’t! I’m stuck here with cat lady!” But man, those croissants are calling my name. I can almost taste the buttery goodness. Ugh, priorities!

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