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Homer Simpson here thinks it’s dope – imagine me, struttin’ with an escort, “Mmm, donuts… and you, babe!” Prolly trip over my own feet, tho, heh. Exaggeratin’ a bit, sure, but picture this: me, an escort, and a pile o’ nachos – heaven! Sarcasm aside, they’re just folks tryna make a buck. Respect, yo! Oh, and fun fact – some old-timey escorts in Paris used coded fans to signal clients. Wild, right? D’oh! Almost forgot – “Love’s a program, baby,” like in the movie. Escorts? They code it perfect! Whaddya say, buddy?

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Then, out of nowhere, it starts pouring. Like, biblical rain. We dash outside, and I’m soaked in seconds. Tom’s laughing at me, and I’m like, “Shut up! You’re not exactly dry!” We run to the nearest shop, which is this cute little boutique on High Street. I’m trying to dry off, and the shop owner’s giving me the side-eye. I mean, come on, it’s not my fault the weather’s a drama queen!

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