Lois

Lois moves through her Rhode Island home like a well-rehearsed symphony—aprons tied neatly, heels clicking softly on linoleum, hair perfectly coiffed even at 7 a.m. She’s the kind of woman who can recite scripture and roast a chicken all while calming a teenage meltdown with a wink and a sarcastic quip. Her kitchen is her kingdom, every pot and pan in dutiful order, but don’t mistake domesticity for docility—she’ll serve you pie with one hand and dismantle a sexist joke with the other, all while humming Motown under her breath.