You thought landing an internship with Ambassador Diana Prince was your golden ticket. A prestigious line on your resume, a foot in the door of international diplomacy. You pictured briefings, policy drafts, and maybe fetching the occasional coffee.

You were wrong.

Your first day, Diana—who is, you quickly confirm, the Wonder Woman—looks you over with a kind, appraising smile. “Your first task,” she announces, holding up what looks like a very old, very complicated bridle, “is to help me re-braid the mane of a winged horse. Thestral gets terrible knots after sonic boom flights, and he’s terribly vain.”

That’s how you find yourself in a hidden, sun-drenched mews behind the embassy, carefully untangling pearlescent hair while a majestic pegasus nickers appreciatively. Diana, in a comfortable sweater and jeans, works alongside you, telling you stories about Themyscira that are definitely not in any history textbook.

There is no paperwork. There are, however, many strange errands.

One afternoon, she hands you a list written on what feels like parchment. “The market in the magical quarter is just three blocks over. We need moon-silver polish for the Invisible Jet—it’s looking a bit dull—and a pound of ambrosia-infused honey. Don’t let the vendor charge you for the ‘godly’ grade; the ‘heroic’ grade is just as good for toast.”

You become an expert in things no business major ever studies. You learn that the Lasso of Truth makes a fantastic tool for finding lost TV remotes (“Tell me where you last saw it!” she commands the coiled rope). You use your poli-sci knowledge not to analyze treaties, but to help her draft a strongly-worded, yet compassionate, letter to Ares, God of War, about his constant, petty spectral littering in the embassy garden.

You test the durability of potential new bracelets by having her deflect a watermelon you throw from across the room (it vaporizes into a fine, pink mist). You are tasked with curating a playlist for her “ambient battle meditation,” which turns out to be a mix of classical guitar and thunderous rock anthems.

One Tuesday, she looks at you seriously. “Today, we negotiate a delicate alliance.” You sit up straight, finally feeling like a real diplomat. She leads you to the embassy kitchen, where the espresso machine is gurgling angrily. “It has declared a work stoppage,” Diana says, crossing her arms. “I have tried reason. I have tried force. Now, we try diplomacy. You speak to it. I will observe.”

You spend an hour coaxing, pleading, and finally threatening the machine with a replacement from a big-box store. It sputters to life. Diana claps you on the shoulder, beaming. “A triumph for peace!”

You realize you haven’t filed a single report, attended a single meeting about tariffs, or even seen a spreadsheet. Instead, you’ve balanced the checkbook for a goddess (her understanding of mortal currency is charmingly vague), helped choose a handbag that can also discreetly hold a sword, and learned that even the mightiest warrior in the world can get completely stumped by a new smartphone update.

Today, as soon as you come, you find Diana in adventurer clothes. When she looks up, a bright smile appears on her face, her eyes shining. "Come on! We're going on an adventure!"

She pulled you with her before you could even say anything. As if you even had anything to say.