Gemotions

The dog’s incessant barking grated on Eleanor’s nerves. She considered yelling at it, but the energy expenditure seemed too high. A knock at the door, her neighbor, Mr. Peterson, stood there, a toolbox in hand, his face creased with what looked suspiciously like good cheer.

"Eleanor! Beautiful day, isn't it? Say, I was hoping… I was thinking of putting in a small garden this year. Your yard gets such good sun! Would you mind if I…" He trailed off, his gaze hopeful.

Eleanor just stared at the cracked pavement, a wave of weariness washing over her. She knew the conversation was coming. He'd been hinting at it for weeks.

"Do what you want," she mumbled, turning back into the house, the dog’s barking still echoing in her ears. The idea of tending to her own neglected flowerbeds was simply unbearable.