The shrew was crying up at Elsie to buzz her into the building. She ignored it and sipped on her coffee and went inside to get out of hearing the shrew whine to her.
She picked up her phone and read the text she just got from her calico cat friend. Be upbeat at your interview. You know, jolly. She laughed aloud at the word.
She went to the mirror in the hallway down from the kitchen.
Jolly. She hadn't been jolly in the past few months. The mare's goldfish died, her stallion boyfriend broke up with her, and her mom was in the hospital for a knee replacement.
She hated hospitals but came back to her appearance. She wore a dress blouse with a sports coat over it and one of those lady ties she was still at odds about wearing. She wore a dress skirt down to her knees and her bluish black hair was up in braids. Yes, she looked professional enough.
Elsie left the radio off on the commute to the interview. She went over jolly in her head. She was snarky. But she was jolly to the receptionist and the president she would be under as vice-president.
Then she was in Mr Lampert's office from HR with the interview. He was a sea bass. So that was easy because fish were usually out there. She talked about her goals and ambitions. She felt the interview went well.
Happy, but she wouldn't use the word jolly.
The mare went to her normal routine as a cashier at the corner store. She felt more of a scowl at the greasy grubby furs that came in there. The next morning her friend texted her asking how the interview went.
She popped her anti-depressants.
She remembered her husband in the hospital. The minx. He was half vegetative but could show emotions. He would frown even when she told him she was going to date others. She showed her own scowl when they learned about her husband and left promptly afterwards.
She got a phone call from the firm that she interviewed at. They wanted a second interview.
There. She felt it. Jolly.