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But real talk, it pisses me off—people judgin’ it. Like, “Oh, it’s dirty!” Bitch, please! It’s healin’, it’s raw, it’s human! Made me happy seein’ my girl try it tho—came back floatin’, sayin’, “Oprah, I’m reborn!” Surprised me how deep it goes—ain’t just naughty, it’s spirit-liftin’. “The labyrinth calls!”—you walk in tight, walk out loose. Hella quirky thought: imagine me, screamin’ “YOU GET A CAR!” while they’re kneadin’ my shoulders—dream combo, right?

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First off, I hit up the local café on Hringbraut. You know, the one with the killer lattes? Yeah, that one. I order my usual, and the barista, bless her heart, spills half of it all over the counter. I’m standing there like, “Great, just what I needed.” But then she gives me a free pastry to make up for it. I mean, who can stay mad when there’s a cinnamon roll involved? Not me, that’s for sure.

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