In which I pretend to be worldly

The powers that be gave the library students a study week. Everything was due before the study week, instead rendering it a party week, so naturally I followed the party back home to "the 603" as the kids somewhat irritatingly call it. I drove back all by me onesie, which meant three things:

1. Listening to the same Paul McCartney CD for five hours, due to poor planning on my part, which, even for diehard fans such as myself, can only end badly and with undue disrespect for the man.

2. The farms on the road from Montreal to the Vermont border emit the rankest stench I have ever passed on the highway. Usually when I've passed farms with livestock, it's a little stinky, enough to make a quasi-inane comment in singsong like "oh, must be a farm nearby!" but nothing unbearable for the average country gal. I couldn't even see any cows from the road, and yet it smelled like I had just stuck my head in the toilet. Naturally, the smell filled up my car again a few miles from the border, and would not leave until after I had passed through customs, which may have factored into how fast I was processed.

3. On that same road, there are many cute little French-Canadian farmstands that sell cute French-Canadian farmstand stuff like mais sucre and bonbons à l'érable. Most of the surrounding area is similarly cute and farmy, but across from one particularly wholesome-looking farmstand is a strip club. No explanation, no other strip joints in the vicinity from what I could tell, just the one lonely building with a neon sign and pictures of naked women on it. It's too easy to just chalk it up to it being Quebec, but so far that's the best I've got.