Gemotions

The humid air of the July afternoon seemed to shimmer around Martha. She skipped, actually *skipped*, the last few steps leading to her front porch. Mrs. Gable, of all people! The woman who always wore floral dresses and fed pigeons, the one who’d clip coupons at the grocery store. Martha had just seen the real estate listing. A sprawling mansion overlooking the lake, complete with a private dock and a tennis court. It was *hers*. Or, well, it would be soon, if Martha had anything to say about it. She practically vibrated with the possibilities, already mentally rearranging the furniture.

The chipped paint on her own front door seemed to gleam, newly beautiful. She could barely remember being irritated by the rusty mailbox. Tonight, she was having a party. A *small* party, of course. For Mrs. Gable. And maybe a few other choice guests. Champagne, caviar, the works.

She hummed as she retrieved the mail, tossing the junk flyers aside with a newfound contempt. She would no longer be weighed down by such trivial concerns. Everything was coming up roses.