6:00 a.m. Arise. Wrap your cardigan-sheathed hands around a mug of hot cardamom lemon water; squint into the distance from your craftsman veranda. Breathe authentically. Pick off a passing man with your bespoke porch rifle.
6:30 a.m. Laundry. The heather-gray linen kitchen towels from last night’s festivities need washing. Delicate cycle; honeysuckle gentle wash detergent. Head back upstairs. Roll up your husband’s body inside the flokati rug upon which it rests. Dust surrounding area with small-batch microfiber.
7:30 a.m. Morning emails. Remind the others about this weekend’s dick-burning.
8:15 a.m. Breakfast: coconut-ginger scones with raw wolf meat. Using the giraffe filter on Snapchat, falsely accuse a man of rape.
9:00 a.m. Nap.
9:18 a.m. Yoga while watching latest Real Housewives of New Jersey; question Jacqueline’s motives. Move the rug-swaddled corpse to a dumpster behind Whole Foods. Buy chia seeds in bulk.
11:30 a.m. Back home. Shower; wash face with homemade semen-cucumber scrub. Triple steam vulva. Check internet. Mob formed yet?
1:30 p.m. Doctor’s appointment — ask about “pleasure abortions.” Do they do group packages? Alison’s birthday is coming up.
2:55 p.m. Retail therapy; there’s a sale at Michael’s. Purchase 37 mason jars. Text Jenny for her scrotum-infused kombucha recipe. Commit vehicular manocide in the parking lot. Text while driving; tell the internet mob they can stop — you’ve just killed the man you falsely accused of rape.
4:30 p.m. Kill a football team.
4:45 p.m. Nap.
6:30 p.m. Order artisanal pizza. Abduct the delivery guy upon his arrival; make him dance for you while you work on screenplay for an all-female Saving Private Ryan.
7:30 p.m. Google cyanide. Ethically harvested version available?
7:45 p.m. Nag a man to death at the local bar.
9:25 p.m. Deactivate bitch shield.
9:30 p.m. Apply lavender oil to temples, crawl into bed. Snuggle under your hemp percale sheets; set your noise machine to “crickets + men crying.” Fall asleep censoring male speech online.