fuckin' CYA!

I was originally supposed to stay and work on the farm in France for 3 weeks. It wasn't until I shared the shower with a large black centipede one morning that I knew I didn't have a shot in hell.

I called my parents, since their moral compass isn't fucked up like mine, and asked them if it was bad if I ran away from the farm / all my problems in life. 

Daddy said "if you leave now, what stories will you have to tell your future children?" 

Here's a story, Dad. I just stepped in a steaming pile of cow shit in my flip flops. HOWS THAT FOR A STORY, KIDS? YOUR MOTHER SMELLS LIKE DISEASE. 

Do you know how difficult it is to think up an escape plan when you are in the middle of nowhere carrying a 40 pound backpack? The nearest town is a 40 minute drive, and probably a 20 year walk, and taxis haven't been invented here yet.

I ended up lying to the farmers saying I had to go back to Canada because my boyfriend broke his leg. 

To be fair, If I was speaking in code, and by "boyfriend," I meant nacho chips (naturally) and by "broke his leg," I meant I WANNA EAT DEM, it's not really a lie.

..............?


I KNOW it's bad to lie (& even worse when the lie sucks,) but if I didn't say something at least slightly tragic, they would have sweet talked me into staying, and I really cant eat anymore vegetarian meals. Mama needs a steak.

The farmers sort of stared at me, in disbelief that I was choosing to end my travels for a stupid non-existent boyfriend that broke his stupid non-existent leg, but I told them it was necessary to leave. They dropped me off at the nearest bus stop in the middle of a cow field, where I proceeded to take the wrong bus to a different middle of nowhere, so I guess there's my karma for lying. 

FARM: 1, ME: the number furthest left on the number line. 

Au revoir farm life, I apologize for being such a useless human being, but I really need to find a beach now.

And some chicken nuggets.

xoxo, the damsel