Mondays would be Beatrice. A 35-year-old teacher-turned-struggling poet working for her local newsroom. She would probably be a redhead living in Seattle, Washington. She hopes her current job would be a shift from the day-to-day obligation of having to deal with beings she referred to as ‘delinquents’. She lives alone (or maybe with her Mom), with a cat and a dog that are inseparable. Her dressing style? Grandma with a hint of preppy. She loves her polka-dot socks. She would be the ‘fax lady’ at her workplace, doing the crappy work that the other more ‘senior’ writers would give her. She dreams of a permanent position as a columnist one day. She’s probably still having trouble getting over her last boyfriend who broke off the engagement — because of her over-the-top hoarding obsession — for a younger, brunette pilates instructor called Steph. Steph was hot and Beatrice could not deny it. She has been to 101 horrible dates and still counting. She is constantly hoping to find that one true love despite her 62-year-old mother barking up against her neck for grandkids. Eats onion bagels for brunch, oblivious to the fact that it was indeed her dragon breath and atrocious fashion style that repelled men meters away from her. Good luck with marrying Beatrice.
Tuesdays would be Jane. A 27-year-old over-achiever. A paralegal working for an established law firm in New York. She makes a few tons despite her young age but could never forgive herself for not passing the bar. Similar to Beatrice, she did work that her annoying coworkers didn’t have the ‘time’ to do. “Paralegals are important because they form the main support system of our firm” What bullshit, she scoffs. As a perfectionist, she prefers to keep all aspects of her life — well, perfect. She did yoga, pilates, P90-X — whatever it was, she desperately made it a point to maintain her 21-year-old cheerleader body. She has an artist boyfriend named Greg who for a god-knows-what reason never pays the bills, never buys his own meals, never pays for dates and is basically a living leech. Through him, she was convinced a future in the arts would never prosper. She has had countless thoughts of ending it with him, but she was the kind to hold onto stability. She didn’t need that anyway, her career was enough to see her through retirement. Still, she was stuck under the assumption that her 6 year-long relationship with Greg was the key to matrimony and that Greg would ‘change for better’. Women are not rehabilitation centers Jane, and good luck with that.
Wednesdays would be stay-at-home dad Patrick. 46-year-old ex-Marine struggling to cope with his daughter’s teenage phase. His wife, Margaret, (clearly a workaholic) made it clear that the kids require “an adult figure guiding them throughout their teenage years”. Somehow, (ironically) Patrick was the only adult figure thanks to ghost mum who’s away on 84 hour-long workweeks as a real estate agent. Patrick didn’t hate it though. His wife was apparently making enough to sustain the family of 4 but all he really wanted was: to be a good dad. His approach? Make your kid your homie, and vice versa. His daughter clearly hates him for turning up during her prom dressed as King Arthur (he mistook the theme of “masquerade” for “medieval” and so he wanted to surprise his daughter when he assumed she didn’t have a date to prom). Living in San Francisco, his neighbor and (only) closest companion was an Asian family with a young Chinese college boy named John. He’d constantly try to take John out on ‘hangover nights’ and strip clubs just to teach him how to chillax dude for a bit. But let’s be honest, all Patrick really wanted was an excuse to reignite the sleeping wild lad inside of him. For that, best of luck to you Patrick.
Thursdays would be 21 fitness-addict Steph. Picture Instagram models, tea-tox, and juice cleanses. Yeap, that’s her. The capital of all things (apparently and superficially) healthy, Los Angeles, CA would be where she’d most likely reside. She’s of course, vegan (she spent most of her teenage years trying to make that switch). Like all Gen-Zs/millennials (honestly who can tell the difference nowadays?), she takes pride in her social media presence. Steph was a college student working part-time as a pilates instructor. She got herself a d**khead of a boyfriend who is 10 years her senior (yes, her boyfriend was Beatrice’s ex). This sugar baby thought she’d found love with him, but he didn’t. All Mr. Sugar daddy wanted was that caramel hot bod of hers. She’d spend most of her days find ways to boost her popularity on Instagram — a minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips honey. But of course, she’s human. She has days when she gorges on burgers and fries. Then again like all college students, she constantly worries about what would become of her future. Good luck with that following count Steph.
Fridays would be good-ole Nancy. At 73, she’d live most of her life happily. She is content with whatever she has and was never the kind to ask for much. But there was one thing she wanted so badly, more than staying alive: grandchildren. She constantly worries about being able to live long enough to see her grandchildren. That, of course, depends on her hopelessly-out-of-love 35-year-old daughter. Yes, I’m talking about Beatrice. Nancy had so much hope when Beatrice was finally engaged. Well, look how that turned out! Nancy would be the type of mom who had a massive following on her Instagram page nicknamed “MamaNancy2711” — where she posts her daily adventures attempting to do young ‘trendy’ things (but we all know she really is a boomer). She got viral for performing the Ice Bucket challenge on Beatrice when she couldn’t get up in the morning. Imagine a 73-year-old lady pulling off a prank on her hopelessly single adult daughter, who wouldn’t like that? Nancy would constantly try to hook Beatrice up for blind dates. Beatrice, of course, hated it (she believed in true love anyway), but could never have the heart to refuse her mom. Beatrice goes along with it nevertheless and thus accrediting Nancy as the reason for her 101 disastrous dates. Good luck with having grandkids, Nancy.
Saturdays would be 20-year-old Dan. Short for Daniel. College student, still a virgin (not that it’s a bad thing, he’d always believed in giving it to the right one at the right time), has never had a single girlfriend (explains the whole virgin thing), loves filmmaking but is currently pursuing a Business major to his Dad’s approval. Secretly makes film content (mostly documentaries) on his own in his laptop, locked in a personal file named “XXX” to which upon his Father’s knowledge bans him for a month thinking it was porn. Never goes against anyone, not even a fly. Dan was the ultimate nice guy. Often taken advantage of, he has had countless heartbreaks with girls who had no idea he existed (he liked creating imaginary relationships with him and his crush and in turn, gets insanely heartbroken after he finds out she has a boyfriend). As a closet otaku, he finds cosplay intriguing but has never had the freedom to explore it (not when his Dad has 4 CC-TVs installed in the house). He dreamed of going to film school at NYU, Tisch School of the Arts. All Dan wanted was the freedom to be who he wanted to be. Good luck with that Dan.
Sundays would be 6-year-old Ronnie. A dreamer. He dreams of accomplishing many things before he hits 30. A pilot, a soldier, a sailor, SUPERMAN. His ultimate dream was to be superman. His parents are busy 24/7, often leaving him to play on his own in the living room. He has developed a great talent for ‘self-entertainment’. He has all the toys he ever wanted to occupy himself with while his workaholic parents spoke and typed nearly all day, only stopping to shower and pee. Occasionally a 16-year-old teenage girl would stop by to ‘baby-sit’ him. Of course, all she ever does is laze on the couch with her eyes glued to her phone. Ronnie had always wanted for her to play with him, but of course, the frigid wind of teenage rebellion would never condone such activity. Ronnie dreams of a family vacation that was never to happen in the imminent future. He longs a childhood playmate. Perhaps if he pretends to go missing one day by hiding in the laundry basket, maybe his parents would care. Would they? Good luck with that Ronnie.