Gemotions

He had the gall to come knocking, this new guy, Mr. Peterson. A garden? On the edge of *my* property? The man was an idiot. My stomach churned. I’d spent twenty years perfecting my lawn, a verdant, pristine green rectangle that was the envy of the neighborhood. He wanted to *dig* it up?

“Sure,” I croaked, trying to sound helpful. “You can use the strip right next to the fence. The one that gets the least sun.” I watched him, a slow smile spreading across my face as he agreed, oblivious.

Later, I made sure to 'accidentally' leave the hose on that side, saturating the ground. Not too much, of course. Just enough to discourage any of those pesky vegetable plants.