Gemotions

Brenda felt her jaw clench as she watched Mrs. Gable's chauffeured Rolls Royce pull into the driveway. Brenda's own beat-up Honda Civic, a monument to years of scrimping and saving, looked pitiful in comparison. The woman, with her perfectly coiffed silver hair and designer sunglasses, barely acknowledged Brenda's presence as she stepped out.

"Morning, Brenda," Mrs. Gable chirped, her voice light and airy. It was the same tone she used to speak to her poodle, Coco. Brenda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was a struggle to not let her facade crack.

Later, Brenda kicked the lawnmower with a little too much force. The engine sputtered, then died. She muttered under her breath, wiping sweat from her brow, as she wrestled with the pull cord again and again. The roar of the Rolls Royce’s engine starting up was the final straw. She threw the cord down in frustration and stalked back into the house.