Gemotions

The request was delivered in a high-pitched squeak that nearly sent Beatrice into a fit of giggles. Mr. Henderson, whose previous attempts at landscaping had involved a singular, forlorn-looking rose bush, was at her doorstep. He wanted to cultivate vegetables. *In her yard.*

She pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to contain the bubbling mirth. His earnest, albeit slightly frantic, explanation of his "sustainable living" plans was simply priceless.

Her stomach did a little flip-flop of laughter as she contemplated the possibilities. She imagined him, covered in dirt, wrestling with a particularly stubborn carrot.

"I suppose," she finally managed, her voice thick with barely concealed joy, "I could spare a corner."