Water condensed on my Gin and Tonic and ran down into a growing pool ringing the glass on the table top. The sun stabbed at my eyes from behind the neighbor's trees, inviting me to shade them, only to mock me with its lingering oppressive heat. The day had been long, hot, and suffocating, but the 324 square feet of fescue that comprised my new kingdom was finally cut neatly, in two directions, and trimmed.
"Do you think we should send it registered mail?"
"Absolutely - I want that SOB to know where it all came from. Every last one."
The small cardboard box rattled as she stretched a screeching swatch of packing tape over the top. Retribution would be had, delayed, at a distance, only in my minds eye, but gloriously confirmed by the receipt from the post office: package delivered. Several packages, actually.
I sipped my drink. My wife really was a genius. It was her suggestion to include my old sneakers, now liberally greased and caked with the last present Mr. Simms dog had left me, just three days ago, probably in the early hours, just under the edge of the deck, shaded from the sun, kept fresh by two days of rain. And the G&T was much more enjoyable without the smell of dog crap lingering in the sultry air. *Much* more enjoyable.