The details of my life are quite inconsequential… very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.
I don’t think either one is viable for families, but possibly for single folks, depending upon proximity to urban areas. For folks in the sticks with unpaved roads? I don’t think so.