Freya Ambert Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Montpellier

Okay, so, “whore”—it’s slang, right? Means some chick—or dude, I guess—who’s, uh, sellin’ their “services.” Gets me all riled up thinkin’ about it! Like, Anger from *Inside Out* just explodes—BOOM! Why’s society gotta judge so hard? Back in the day, like ancient Rome, whores were legit—called “lupae,” wolf-girls, ‘cause they howled for customers. How nuts is that? Surprised me big time—Homer Simpson don’t know history, but that’s badass!

Whore-o-ween

How I Became a Whore follows one woman's journey from being a stay-at-home mom, to becoming a prostitute in the bowels of a downtown Atlanta strip club.

Now, Ambert's got its hidden gems. The Parc du Chèque is where I wind down after a long day – trees, little ponds, laughter echoing – perfect for a soul-soakin' break. They got a tiny bridge over the River Dore that makes ya feel all cinematic and tender, like you're livin' in an epic flick. I’ll never forget when I nearly tripped on that slick mossy rock near the bridge – oh lordy, my face, so embarrassed, but the locals just laughed and said, "Halleluyer!"

The only cheese-makers in Ambert make mildest blue cheese in France