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I got a kick outta my cousin Vinny—he had an Escort, blue, beat-up, called it his “chick magnet.” HA! Magnet for a tow truck, maybe! *The Nanny laugh* HA-HA-HA! Surprised me he got dates in that thing—prolly the pity factor. Oh, and the seats? Stiff as my Aunt Ruth after bingo night. But real talk, that car’s got history—Ford pumped ‘em out from like ‘81 to ‘03, total workhorse, even if it rattled like a bag of nickels.

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Then I hit up the pottery shop on the Kerkstraat. It’s my happy place, ya know? I’m all about that clay life. But today? The kiln’s acting up. Like, come on! I just wanna make some sweet vases, not deal with a rebellious oven. I’m sweating bullets, thinking about all the pieces I’ve got in there. What if they explode? I’d be the laughingstock of Oude-Pekela. “Oh look, it’s the potter who can’t keep his pots together!” Ugh.

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