Gemotions

The clinking of champagne flutes carried from the opulent garden party next door, a stark contrast to the usual lawnmower soundtrack. I glanced through my kitchen window. There was Mr. Finch, the quiet accountant, wearing what appeared to be a tuxedo, surrounded by people in expensive dresses. A chuckle escaped my lips.

I decided my evening needed a twist. I donned my oldest, most patched-up gardening clothes, grabbed a watering can, and marched over. I pretended to be incredibly engrossed in my neighbor's prize-winning petunias.

"Oh, these are lovely!" I exclaimed, my voice a little too loud. "Do you have any tips? I just can't seem to get mine to… thrive." I knew my eyes were sparkling.