Was vortexing hard in this strangely snowless clime until, today, I met a young doe-eyed lyonnaise, my aunt and uncle's ward, who kept asking me about "Las Vegas?" and ate seven (tiny) desserts. Her version of my dad's joke goes like this: "Why French omelettes are so small? Because un œuf is un œuf, it is not funny because I say it with accent!", but of course there is a French word for humor, it is l'humour. She was seventeen; I sucked her life force.
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