Sorry this is a bit long. Anyone have any advice about where to submit this thing?

I tried Literary Mama; the fiction editor liked it but didn't think it fit with their creative direction. Which I guess I kind of figured on, since it's light and satirical and not...well..not literary. I'd like to try Brain, Child's parody section, but it's about 1000 words too long! I'd hack some of it out but I have a problem with redaction. I'd love any thoughts or suggestions.

***

What Does Wendy Do All Day?

7:00 a.m.
Me wakes with a start--all those machines clanging round across the street. Loud crash several minutes later, cry of “Please, can I help, too?�

7:13 a.m.
Sneak a smoke out the window. Long day ahead for me, with lots of cooperation, organisation, and enthusiasm not easily mustered. Practice in the mirror: “Yes we can!� Brush teeth and hair; try to get the bangs to meet in the middle. Settle on a ponytail, again. Roots showing; trip to Boots added to list of things to do, else I’ll not much longer be a Blonde-Haired Girl in a Hardhat, eh?

Looking in the closet now. Green shirts and blue pants. Simple enough. Today the blue headband and earrings, tomorrow the red. Socket wrench in the old toolbelt, and Bob’s your uncle.

One more pass before the mirror. “Don’t try to make a monkey out of me,� I say to the reflection. Not convincing. Shake another fag out of the pack and have a glance round the courtyard, see if Mrs. Percival’s about. I’ve got the right tool for her job, that.

7:30 a.m.
Bob and the machines all set for the day. Bob waiting in the yard, foot tapping.

“Right on time and really reliable!� I say cheerily.

Bob sighs. “Let’s have none of that.�

“Sorry.� I’m not, actually. “Nice day, innit?�

“All right,� he allows. Pilchard mews at his feet.

“Did you feed him yet?� I wonder.

“We’re out of kibble.�

Add that to the list. “Anything else? A little bit of timber and a saw? A little bit of concrete mixed with sand?�

“Must you?�

“Oh, all right.� Not one for a tease, that Bob.

He claps his hands. “Everybody ready?�

“Right away, Bob!� says Dizzy.

“I’m a bit scared, actually,� says Lofty.

“Oh, Lofty. You can do it!� Bob cheers.

I study the clipboard. “Right, then. Says here the windmill won’t spin. And we’ll paint a new sign for Mr. Sabatini this afternoon after we finish up. Okay, team! Let’s go!�

The machines agree and Bob draws in a big breath. I brace for it: least favorite part of the day.

“Can we fix it?�

All together now: “Yes, we can!�

I catch Scoop looking a bit doubtful, but the machines roll on out of the yard. “Take it easy!� Roley pipes up.

I wave. As they disappear from the yard, Pilchard looks up at me, as if hopeful. “Let’s go in,� I say.

7:37 a.m.
Tin of Kattomeat from the desk for Pilchard (he hates the dry stuff Bob gets) and a chocolate croissant for myself. Have a sit at the desk. It’s only the beginning of the wombling day.

8:00 a.m.
Phone bleeps. Hear some shuddery breathing on the other end.

“Speak, Pickles,� I say. “What’s it now?�

“Are you sitting at the desk?�

“No, I’m on the telly.� Stupid git. “Where else would I be?�

“What are you wearing?�

“Carton tape and strategically placed muffins.� As if anyone need ask what I’m wearing; I have just the one outfit.

“Ohhh,� he whispers. “I could eat them.�

“How’s that shed working out, then? Satisfied with the workmanship?�

“I think it’s leaking. I need to show you a wet spot.�

I pretend to scribble. “Let’s be sure I have this. ‘Farmer Pickles complains of wet spot.’ Perhaps Dizzy can cement the problem area. Is it a constant leak?�

“Well, the whole area is quite...moist.�

“But rather small, I imagine.�

“I think it’s getting larger now.�

“I’ll get Bob right on it.�

“You could bob on it.�

“Unlikely today,� I say airily.

“Is there any...moisture...in your chair?�

“Not even somewhat. Sorry.� Disgusting. I hang up and call Bob’s mobile. Which rings four feet away from me.

“Bob,� I say to his voice mail, “you’ve got to take your phone along for it to be mobile. Anyways, Pickles, the dirty sod, says his shed is leaking, else his trousers. Hard to say. Think you can swing round and help him bugger a sheep or that useless prat Spud?� I can talk this way with Bob because of our history, though not in front of the machines.

9:42 a.m.
Invoices are done and posted, so I set about painting a picture of Scruffy in repose alfresco.

“Let’s see,� I say, puzzle a bit “What color is the grass? Looks like we’ll need to make up green paint by mixing yellow and blue.� I put a bit of each on my brush, and sure enough, it turns green. I’m chuffed!

10:30
The painting is done and drying. I hang it up on the file cabinet with a spot of adhesive tape and sneak round the back for another ciggie. Pilchard looks on disapprovingly.

“Wot?� I exhale. “You eat your vomitus.�

Pilchard gags in reply.

11:15 a.m.
It’s deadly in the office. Bob rings in with news that the windmill is turning once more, so it’s off to Sabatini’s to build the new sign. I hold the receiver from my ear but still overhear that accursed cheer. Yes we can, Bob. Honestly, the work would take half the time if they weren’t always poncing back and forth singing songs about it.

12:00 p.m.
I’m off to Sabatini’s with Bob’s mobile phone, planning on some takeaway for myself. On my way down the street I notice some lovely crocuses blooming on the square. Think I might inquire after plucking a few so I can stand about with them, smiling.

I see Percival on the playground with some of her students. She’s wearing a whistle—a look I like.

She waves. “Hello, Wendy!�

“Hullo, Mrs. Percival,� I say.

“D’ya have a moment?�

For you, anything. I cross the street.

“Hullo, kids,� I say to the little ones gamboling about. “I’m Wendy.�

“You’re weird,� one of them giggles and runs off.

I shrug.

“I have a number of pencils here, and I wish to count them,� Percival explains, holding out her hands. “Can you help me?�

Yes, I can! I almost shout. Instead I peer over. “Let’s see, then.�

In her cupped hands there are indeed a number of pencils. Sharpened, I note.

“Shall we count together?� she inquires.

“One,� I point. “Then that’s two. Three...�

“Four!� we finish together.

“I’ve got four pencils!� she exclaims. “How lovely.�

Just then one slips from her hands and falls to the ground.

“Oh, dear. Now how many pencils do I have?�

“One,� she begins again. “Two...�

“Three!� I shout.

“That’s right. I have got three pencils remaining!� She smiles brilliantly. I like older folks. Bob’s dad Robert is a nice looker, too. “Thank you so much for your help today, Wendy.�

“No prob, Mrs. Percival. I like counting. And now I’ve got to run along to Mr. Sabatini’s. Bob and the machines are building a new sign for his restaurant.�

“Goodbye, Wendy. I hope to see you soon.�

“I’d like that,� I say. Am I being too forward?

12:45 pm
Bob and the machines are busy making the sign. It’s a round thing, like a pizza.

“It’s a circle!� says Roley. “Like my wheels! They go round and round.�

Sure enough the thing is a circle. No corners at all!

“Shapes are everywhere,� Lofty marvels.

“I’ll bring the paint!� says Muck. “It’s my favorite color.�

I look to the paint and then back to Muck. Each of them is in fact red.

“Such a smart girl.� I pat Muck. I really do like the machines, but must they always be so exuberant?

“Not quite ready for the paint yet,� Bob says. “Let’s finish with the saw. Can we cut out this shape from the wood?�

“Yes we can!� everybody shouts.

“Then we’ll paint it, right? It’ll look good enough to eat! Careful, Scoop!�

Speaking of eating, I go inside to place an order with Mr. Sabatini. Speaking of exuberant...

“My friend Wendy!� he yells. “I have a nice pizza today! It is round, like Roley’s wheels, and red, like Muck!�

“That’s the tomato sauce,� he adds, conspiratorily.

“Yes, tomatoes are red, and they are also round, like wheels,� I realize. “What’s it got on the top, then?�

“Well, these peppers are green and square. I have onions which are also square, but they are white, not green.�

“White like your apron.� I point.

“Yes!�

“Looks good. I’ll have it, then. Two slices to take away.� He rings me up.

I hand Bob his phone on my way back to the office. “Now, you’ve got to leave it turned on, else it won’t ring. And what’s the point of the phone otherwise?�

“Thanks, Wendy!� he says, sincerely. Always sincere, that Bob.

1:45 pm

I send a number of faxes, then organise a bit.

2:30 pm

Put the kettle on.

2:33 pm

Brew some tea.

2:37 pm

Pilchard chases a fly. That Pilchard!

3:00 pm
Prepare cookies for tea. Utilising my knowledge of fractions, I measure various quantities of butter, sugar, and stuff. Mix them all together. Good fun! Since the right tool for the job is a necessary requirement, I roll out my batter with a specially designed pin from my tool belt.

3:07 pm
Choose from an assortment of shaped pastry cutters. One was square. Like the peppers! Another was round, like Roley’s wheels. Shapes are everywhere. Finally I select a thing with several pointy bits on the end. Count the pointy bits. There are five.

3:30
Cookies turn from white to brown!

3:37 pm
The phone bleeps. Please not Pickles, I think. It’s Bob.

“What’s up, Bob?� I ask. “Lose your new spanner? Travis stuck in the muck again? A very busy day indeed?�

“Wendy,� he whispers.

“Yes, Bob,� I whisper back.

“I don’t think we can build it,� he says.

Choke on my cigarette. “Wot?�

“Are you smoking?�

Stub it in my teacup. “Of course not. I’m making cookies with pointy bits for tea. They turned from white to brown in the oven, which was hot rather than cold.�

“Anyways, I don’t think we can build it. I don’t know how to tell the machines. They keep singing, but the sign is just lying on the ground, all round like Roley’s wheels and red like Muck.�

“Are you barmy? Did you cut the shape out from the wood with a saw? Did you paint it using a brush and paint?�

“Yeah.�

“So then you did build it, technically.�

“Yeah.�

“Well then, you’ve got to pick it up off the ground, right? And put it up towards the sky so people can see it without bending over and squinting? And recognize pizzas for sale? Stop for a bit?�

“Yeah! But it’s so heavy, and the shopfront is far taller than I. I’m only able to lift it waist-high before I get tired.�

“Maybe Lofty could pick it up with her claw! Hoist it up a bit?� I’m a bleeding genius.

“Yeah! But...�

“But?�

“Won’t it fall back down again? Possibly hit someone?�

“Well, you’ve got to hang it up then! Use your hammer and pound some nails in! Make it stick on there a while.�

“Okay. Let’s see.� I hear Bob scrambling. “I’ve got some little nails and some big ones. Oh, wait. That’s just a bit of lint.�

“All set then?�

“All set! Thanks, Wendy! Can we—“

Click.