Gemotions

The persistent whine was already grating on my nerves. Sarah, perched on the edge of the sofa, had her face buried in a pet adoption website, her voice a constant, high-pitched plea. I gripped the mug of tea tighter, wishing for a sudden, unexpected flood to wash away the whole situation.

"He's a *corgi*," she said, practically swooning. "And his name is Winston!"

The image of a dog, a dog that required *daily walks* and *training*, flashed across my mind. I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to roll my eyes.

"Sarah," I began, my tone carefully neutral, like I was speaking to a toddler who'd just painted on the walls. "We agreed, no pets. Remember? The lease, the allergies…"

She pouted, her lower lip trembling slightly. An act she'd perfected over the years.

I closed my laptop and stood up. "I'm going to bed."