Gemotions

The audacity. Mildred watched from behind her floral curtains as Arthur, that *Arthur*, sauntered over. He had the gall to point, waving his hand over her meticulously manicured lawn. The roses, the petunias, the perfect green expanse – all her pride and joy.

He cleared his throat. "Marvelous space," he began, his voice syrupy sweet. "Such a shame to waste it, don't you think?" He smiled, and Mildred felt a prickle of heat rise in her chest.

"I'm considering a vegetable patch," Arthur continued, oblivious. He gestured at the far corner, the sunny corner, the one where her prize-winning irises bloomed. Mildred pursed her lips, her knuckles white as she gripped the fabric of her curtains. "Perhaps a small plot?"