Gemotions

Brenda almost choked on her chamomile tea when Mrs. Gable, that woman with the perpetually perfect petunias, sauntered over. Honestly, the nerve. She took a step back, folding her arms across her chest. "Well, isn't this a surprise," she managed, her voice tight.

"Oh, Brenda, dear! Such a lovely yard you have!" Mrs. Gable beamed, a saccharine smile plastered across her face. "I was wondering, the sunlight is just *perfect* on that little patch beside your fence. Would you mind terribly if I…borrowed a bit to grow some vegetables?"

Brenda's jaw tightened. She eyed the space in question, picturing her prize-winning rose bushes, meticulously pruned and lovingly tended. This woman wanted to *what*? The gall! “I…I hadn’t planned on, well, sharing,” Brenda stammered, her voice thin. She felt a heat rising up her neck.

She began to pace the patio. The afternoon sun, usually a comfort, now felt like a spotlight. "This is *my* yard," she thought, the words a silent mantra. "My space."