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About Paris

I reckon it’s a game of masks. Folks strut about, all “look at me,” but half’s fake as a wooden shilling. Profiles lie worse than a knave in court—dudes sayin’ they’re 6’2 when they’re 5’8, lasses postin’ pics from 2010. Drives me up the wall, it does! Last week, I matched this bird—gorgeous, right? Bio says “loves hikes, deep chats.” Meet her, and she’s glued to her phone, mumbling ‘bout TikTok. I’m like, “Thou art not what thou seem’st!” Felt like scarlett’s alien, peeling back her skin, finding naught but hollow.

Preparation for the certifications

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First off, I decided to hit up the market at Place du Marché. You know, the one with all the fresh produce and those cute little stalls? I’m all about that fresh fruit life. But as I’m strolling through, I bump into this dude selling cheese. Like, the best cheese ever. I’m talking about that creamy Brie that melts in your mouth. I’m like, “Yo, gimme a sample!” And he’s all, “Sure, but only if you try this stinky blue cheese.” I’m like, “Stinky? Nah, fam.” But then I tried it. OMG, it was like a flavor explosion! I was happy, like, “Why did I doubt you, cheese man?”

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