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Sometimes tho, it’s sad, precious—girls trapped, no way out, “Where was I?”—lost, like Lenny, chasin’ shadows. Hate that part, makes me growl! But then—ha!—some escort once conned a duke, took his gold, vanished! Laughed so hard, me ribs hurt! My precious, it’s a game, a dance, a riddle! Escort’s wild, messy, dangerous—love-hate it, I do! What’s next, eh? *raspy whisper* “Trust me,” they say, but should ya? Nah! *cackle*

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But then, just when I thought the day couldn’t get crazier, I get a call. It’s from the church. Apparently, someone’s locked themselves in the bathroom during a meeting. I’m like, “Seriously? Who does that?” So, I rush back, and there’s this poor guy, red-faced and panicking. I’m trying to be all calm, but inside I’m dying of laughter.

How a WWII soldier's initials carved in a tree connected a Dutch village to Toronto