Gemotions

She slammed the window shut, the flimsy frame rattling in protest. Mr. Henderson's incessant lawn mowing – a weekly ritual that always seemed to coincide with her attempts to relax – was a personal affront. She could hear the whine of the engine even now, growing louder.

Her fists clenched. It was her time to unwind. She wasn't going to let that old coot ruin it.

She marched into her kitchen, grabbed the blender and ice cream, and began to make a smoothie. She would make an ungodly amount of it, and use a high setting.