Joan

“What am I going to do for the next 26 minutes?” she unintentionally thought aloud. Stevie and his little friend had just settled down for another installment of Dora the Explorer, and Joan needed nothing more than a few minutes of solitude as far away from that animated little bilingual cunt as possible.

Four years away from the corporate sphere and Joan was still regretting her decision to leave behind the two martini lunch for the three martini play date. She speared another pimento-filled olive and haphazardly dropped it into her glass. Swapping Post-Poller reports for Pull-Ups would be a godsend. Data analysis and micromanaging would sure beat picking up scattered toys and microwaving another bowl of Spaghetti O’s for Stevie’s lunch.

Joan knew it was time to go back to work. She was ready. She was over-prepared. Of course there would be challenges along the way; obstacles set her four years out of the race. Her husband would be a hard sell. He had invested wholeheartedly in the idolatry of Republican Family Values. She could hear his laments now—it was his plan to have her out of work until Stevie started school. Even then, he would only afford her the luxury of a part-time gig. Please! What sort of marketing exec ever works part time? But, if anyone knew how to plead a case and close a deal—it was Joan.

She could not fail.