Gemotions

The thought of it made her skin crawl. The audacity of Mrs. Peterson, the woman with the chipped nail polish and the unruly dog. The sheer nerve! Asking to *use* her pristine lawn.

Her jaw ached with the effort of not saying something she would regret. The sun felt too bright, the air too thick. A cold sweat erupted on her palms.

She kept her voice steady, despite the turmoil within. “My yard is not a community project,” she stated, each word a carefully placed brick in a wall. The thought of Mrs. Peterson’s unkempt vegetables on her property filled her with a profound, almost visceral, feeling of disgust.