Another Perfect Week
All 32 of her teeth lay in her hand. How much longer could she convince herself that they were falling out naturally and not that she was having 3 a.m. night terrors that caused her to pull them out one by one? It wasn’t going to be today. She had too much on the docket. Besides, people’s teeth mass exit their mouth all the time.
Kellyanne opened the window of her room, which looked out directly onto I-395. The roar of morning traffic drowned out the screams she let out as she forced her teeth back into her gums. It didn’t matter if the car passengers saw her doing this. In fact, if they did, it’d probably be a great opportunity to pass that law Sessions was so enthusiastic about that required nuns to carry assault rifles.
She was used to acting as a distraction her whole life. As a child, she’d accuse her friends’ mothers of being unfaithful and get them so confused the fathers could easily sneak out to a local bar. They’d pay her $7, and she saved up that money to pay for her undergraduate tuition. She had no patience for slackers who claimed college was unaffordable. Money doesn’t come clean, she’d always say. In fact, it was her senior quote in the yearbook.
Most of her teeth were back in. She was coming to enjoy this morning routine. It was the one thing in her day she could rely on. There was no guarantee in the White House. Just last week she walked in and Bannon was testing the flammability of the drapes in the Oval Office. Kellyanne didn’t mind the fire or destruction, but Bannon burnt some of his hair which filled the entire building with a smell more offensive than queer people using the bathrooms they feel safest in.
The traffic outside had come to a complete stop and Kellyanne was in the direct eye line of a small child in a back car seat. The toddler stared straight into her eyes. This shook Kellyanne. No one had made eye contact with her in probably 19 years? The car began to pull away. When would this happen again? Another 19 years? She panicked. She smiled at the child. He burst into tears. Kellyanne hadn’t yet cleaned the blood from her mouth. He was gone. How could she scar a child like that? Was she a monster? Was she no better than those unfaithful mothers from her childhood? She wiped her mouth clean and dunked her head into the vat of Aqua Net. No time to worry herself, just instill worry in the hearts of others. She left for the day.
Kellyanne was feeling adventurous and had 7 free minutes. Even when she went on her mandatory media diet the other week, she had to spend that doing community service (faving college young Republican club tweets). This was 7 minutes all to herself. The president was learning to tie his own tie. Bannon found a child to harass online, and Stephen Miller was out all morning kayaking in the Anacostia. He said it relieved his stress and allowed him to move through the day with calm execution. Kellyanne didn’t care what other people did to feel better, though.
She was going to try yoga! She had heard of its restorative powers but hated the idea of being in a room with so many other women, even if they were blonde and lithe. But here she could try it alone in her own office. She placed a scrunchie on the doorknob, locked the door, and put on a Best of The Eagles CD to throw people off.
“Yoga for important people” she typed into the search bar. A video popped up. A fit and petite brunette in a matching maroon fitness get-up smiled at her through the screen.
“Slut,” Kellyanne thought to herself. She pressed play.
“Good morning! Thank you for joining me today. Whatever brought you here, welcome. I hope you can shed your anxieties and sink into a deep meditative practice today,” the brunette said as she lengthened along the mat. Kellyanne pushed her office chair to the side and sprawled out underneath her desk. Hm, so this was where all the locks of hair she pulled out were collecting in the office. Good to know. But now that she did yoga, Kellyanne knew she wouldn’t need to pull out her hair to feel calm ever again. She was a yogi. Did this count as foreign diplomatic experience? She’d meditate on it.
“Now we’re going to go into downward — ” The door flung open. Kellyanne slammed the laptop shut and shot up from underneath her desk. It was Miller. He was soaking wet.
“My kayak capsized so I swam to work and got here twice as fast, don’t ask me how, it just happened and you have to respect that or you aren’t an American. Now get up from under your desk, Mr. President learned to tie his tie and is demanding a tie-tying competition in the Situation Room.”
Kellyanne rose and dusted herself off. Her 7 minutes were up.
People were way too concerned with how she sat on that couch. It’s America, you can sit on a couch any damn way you like. Plus, how else was she supposed to show a room full of African-American leaders that she was cool? By sitting on a couch a normal way? Ha. Amateurs.
Nevertheless, she received a scolding from Ryan and that’s what hurt her the most. He was the only person in the administration she couldn’t quite read. And it didn’t help that he was the sexiest man in government across all parties (Republicans, Democrats, and Women Democrats.) Kellyanne just felt nervous around him. Was it the good hair? The perfect jawline? The fact that he looked just like a large version of a 14-year0old?
Kellyanne decided to write him an apology letter. She wanted him to take her seriously. She also wanted him to think she was smoking hot.
Thank you for teaching me a lesson. Sometimes I get so excited by politics, I forget how to do things correctly. You know how much I love this administration and our country so maybe you could teach me how to do things…right?
Kellyanne Elizabeth Conway
Perfect. She’d hand deliver it later this afternoon, which reminded her she needed to respond to those applications for her personal assistant position. She wasn’t going to hire anyone. If women wanted it all, they’d have to do it all themselves. Right, feminists? She fell into such an extreme laughing fit she blacked out for 9 hours.
When she woke up, she completely forgot about the applications, the letter, and the couch incident all together. Another perfect day.