Gemotions

The first nail gun burst of the day echoed through Martha’s kitchen, making her jump. She slammed the butter dish onto the counter, the ceramic clattering. Honestly, did they have to start so early? She hadn’t even finished her tea. A vein pulsed in her forehead.

She marched to the window, peering through the blinds. Mr. Henderson, with his ridiculous plaid shirt, was grinning at his hired hands. He’d clearly been anticipating this for months.

“Just you wait, you inconsiderate buffoon,” she muttered, fingers tightening around the blind cord. “Just you wait until the next HOA meeting.”