Gemotions

The thumbs danced across the screen, a blur of motion. Beatrice had been drafting a particularly scathing text about her boss, a Mr. Grumbles, and his penchant for wearing socks with sandals. She’d intended it for her friend, Clara, but somehow, the "send" button had been nudged before the final insult could be typed. Beatrice watched the little "delivered" tick appear next to the message, which now read: "Grumbles looks like a sad, beige garden gnome." She choked back a giggle, a sudden warmth spreading across her chest.

A moment later, a reply popped up. “Beige gnome? You wound me, Beatrice!” It was Mr. Grumbles.

Beatrice slumped back in her chair, a hand flying up to cover her mouth, the corners of her lips tilting upwards. She could picture his face, the perpetually furrowed brow, the way his lips would thin when displeased. Oh, this was going to be good. She typed back, “Oh, Mr. Grumbles! I do apologize. Wrong recipient! Though, the garden gnome comparison…it’s…apt.”