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About Florence

So, check it—I’m a psychologist, right? In my head, I’m like, escorts got *layers*, yo. They’re out here playin’ emotional ninja—dodgin’ feelings, flippin’ vibes. One minute they’re your therapist, next they’re dippin’ outta your life faster than you can say “I am Green Destiny!” That’s their power move, fam! Little known fact: back in the day, like ancient Rome times, escorts were straight-up celebs—courtesans, they called ‘em. High-class, educated, runnin’ the game. Blows my mind, yo—imagine that hustle!

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Then, outta nowhere, this lady storms in. She’s fuming. Turns out, she ordered a whole lamb for a family feast. But guess what? I forgot to set it aside. I’m like, “Oh no, not today!” She’s givin’ me the death stare. I’m sweatin’ more than a pig in a sauna. I apologize like a million times. Finally, I offer her a discount. She softens up a bit. Phew! Crisis averted.

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