Mila Rothwell Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Canberra

Hmmm, a shepherd I am! Whore, you say? Twisted, dark, it gets. Like in *Inglourious Basterds*, ya know? “That’s a bingo!” I’d shout. Whore’s a word, man—gritty, raw. Oldest job, they say, huh? Back in medieval times, whores—sneaky they were. Hid in taverns, secret codes n shit. Pissed me off, tho—kings taxed ‘em! Greedy bastards, always are. “You magnificent bastard,” I’d mutter.

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Back to my work – as a masseur, I learn people's secrets through their tired muscles. I see the hidden stories in each frown or wrinkle. I even sometimes joke, “Yo, your back's got a story, right?” and they spill the beans. Like a living anthology of life! Rothwell lends itself well to that calm vibe; it’s like every massage is a whisper, “Would you like to come over?” in its own subtle way.

Neuroscientist Dame Nancy Rothwell's journey from fat cells to university leadership