Gemotions

The audacity. Mildred craned her neck, peering through the gap in the privet hedge. Mr. Henderson, with his plaid shirt and perpetually cheerful demeanor, was already out there, markers and string strewn across the shared property line. He’d barely spoken a word to her beforehand, just a casual, chirpy, “Gonna put up a fence, Mildred!” as if it was a mere formality. Her jaw tightened.

She marched outside, heels clicking on the patio stones. "Mr. Henderson," she drawled, her voice a glacial flow. "Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the *purpose* of this… endeavor?" She gestured dismissively with a perfectly manicured hand towards the offending strings.

His smile faltered, just for a moment. Good. She wanted him to feel the chill. She wanted him to understand the weight of her displeasure, the utter lack of respect he was demonstrating. The idea of his ugly, pre-fabricated monstrosity ruining her view… it curdled her stomach.