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But ugh, gets me steamed too—the judgy types, clutchin pearls, actin like escorts ain’t human. Pisses me off! They’re out there, grindin, makin ends meet, and society’s all, “Oh no, scandal!” Gimme a break. I mean, “Fish are friends, not food”—people are people, not trash, ya dig? Had this one gal tell me—met her at a diner, cheap coffee stinkin up the joint—she said she paid her way thru med school escortin. Blew my mind! Smart cookie, too—now she’s fixin hearts, not breakin em. Ain’t that a hoot?

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What is more breathtaking than an early morning at Chantilly training centre, watching your horses in a calm atmosphere, surrounded by space and beauty?

Then, outta nowhere, this old lady on a bike cuts us off. I’m like, “Lady, you’re not in the Tour de France!” Timmy freaks out, slams the brakes, and we almost end up in the flower shop. I’m sweating bullets, but I can’t help but laugh. It’s like a scene from a comedy movie.