Grumpy Old Ladies

She eyed the lawn carefully as she walked across it, wiping her stained foot through the grass with force on each step. She spotted one more small turd on the side she hadn't yet mowed. She would have to comb the yard before continuing. And every time before mowing from now on. Infuriating! Disgusting! So... unsanitary!

Donna had never liked Magda's dog, but now she regarded it with open animosity. What if she laid some rat poison around her yard? Maybe the filthy fleabag would eat some and drop dead. It was almost the right weight, after all. The yappy little thing was basically a barking rat already.

She peered into the garage, shadowy and dimly lit after the sunbathed yard, and estimated the distance to the sink. She glanced around, and when she didn't see anyone around, she grabbed her boobs and took a few tentative hops on her unsoiled foot. No—no she couldn't. Even for such a short distance. Donna hated that they bounced so much. It was just... unseemly. Obscene.

She clenched her jaw, stepping clumsily only on the heel of her foot, and hobbled over to the sink. She scrubbed her foot with soap and Ollie's old sponge until it was red and felt tender. Then she went inside, still walking mostly on her heel, and spent a long while washing and disinfecting it.

"Babe, it's only shit." She could hear Ollie's amused voice in her head. "You had four kids. How can you be so freaked out by this?"

Donna growled and banished her late husband from her head. Sure, she had spent years of her life washing other's bottoms and changing a lot of very messy diapers, but it was a very different thing to do that for her own children. Holy shit, she thought, when she realized how long it had been since she'd had to wipe a bottom, and suppressed the giggle with extreme prejudice.

This was not fun! She was furious!

Donna went back to the garage to dump the sponge into the trash can. She wondered if Ollie had more of those somewhere. Probably yes; he was always a hawk for good deals to stock their house with this, that, or the other thing. He hadn't been cheap, exactly, but he had been prone to say that a penny saved is a penny earned.

She opened cupboards and rummaged in Ollie's craft table's drawers. When she pulled open the big center one, her gaze fixed on a box full of miscellaneous items. There was a set of keys she didn't remember seeing before. Ollie's handwriting was on the paper slipped inside the plastic dongle. She took them in her hands and turned the keyring the right side up. "Magda", it said.

Ollie had a key to Magda's house.

Donna flipped the offending item around in her hand, turning her head towards Magda's house as though she could see it from inside the garage. Ollie had kept a key to that witch's house, and had never mentioned it to his lawfully married wife.

"You just would have got all worked up, over nothing," Ollie's voice said inside her head.

"You shut up," Donna said. She slammed the key back into the box, closed the drawer and picked up an empty jar and a pair of thick plastic gloves. "I bet she didn't make the dog shit in our yard when you were alive."

Ollie didn't have anything to say to that. Donna spent the next fifteen minutes scrutinizing her lawn very carefully and depositing the three miniscule turds into the jar, shivering with disgust. She very briefly entertained, and was indignant at, the idea of Ollie carrying on an affair with the witch, but if that was the case then why would he label the key? It was the kind of idea that only made sense when she was already irate and not thinking clearly.

She reluctantly mowed the rest of her lawn, being physically unable to leave the job half done, and despite her frustration it delighted her to see her yard so tidy again. Every time she was on Magda's side of the yard, she eyed the slightly-overgrown-but-still-noticeably-wrongly-mowed lawn, and her temper rose. When she was done she didn't even stop, but pushed the mower over to Magda's side and proceeded to cut her lawn the way it was supposed to be cut. Diagonal. Just like everyone else.

Donna kept an eye out for more turds and, sure enough, couldn't find any on Magda's side. She deposited the poop jar in the garage, and the following days found her examining her yard with a keen eye and steadily filling it up. Every time she picked one up, she got more and more angry. Her mind was constantly trying to come up with the best way to return the pile of shit to Magda. The spare key kept popping up in her thoughts as well; should she take the dog shit inside? Put them under Magda's pillow, perhaps? Bring one of Ollie's screwdrivers and drop them down one of the HVAC vents? A canine upper decker? Donna wasn't sure if Magda knew they had a key to her house, and didn't want to give away that advantage if she didn't.

It was a ludicrous revenge fantasy, and it made her ludicrously giddy.

Later that night, when Donna lay on the bed, spread eagle and sweaty having just masturbated to a furious orgasm, it occurred to her that the key might not work. There was no telling how old the key was; maybe Magda had changed the locks since? She raised her head and peeked over the windowsill to the shadowy bulk of Magda's house looming behind the fence.

She huffed and curled up, pulling a blanket over her naked body. Only one way to find out.

***

Donna was very alert. She had awakened much earlier than usual, had a bit too much coffee, and was currently, intently, peeking through the curtains of the window that had the best view of Magda's car.

She was so on edge, and so wired on caffeine, that she nearly squeaked when she saw Magda emerge from her house at seven fifty on her way to work. Donna held her breath and made sure not to touch the curtains.

Magda looked good in a suit. She was tall and slender, and Donna felt an intense twinge of envy at how well the jacket accentuated her curves. She wondered if Magda had the suit tailored, but no; she wouldn't need to. Her body type was the exact proportional shape every clothes manufacturer seemed to cater to, unlike herself; Donna had never met a suit that fit her even remotely well. She muttered bitterly under her breath and adjusted the strap of her bra, which was again digging uncomfortably into her shoulder.

It happened so fast that Donna almost missed it.

Magda looked around, suspiciously, and walked closer to the property line. The taller woman threw something on the roof of Donna's car, and then she shouted for the weasely, stupid little dog to come inside. Sure enough, it had again been shitting on her side of the—

Donna gasped as it hit her. Bird food! She had wondered why birds seemed suddenly so eager to shit on her car, especially now that the tree didn't stretch over it anymore, and had thought she was just imagining it. The nerve on that woman!

Donna followed, with narrowed eyes, when Magda shut the front door behind the dog-shaped squeak toy, locked it, walked to her car, and drove away.

Time for action.

Donna collected the key from the garage and snuck over to Magda's back door. She told herself that it was a fact finding mission, that being able to get inside of Magda's house would work once, so she needed to find something perfect. Something masterful to get Magda back for all the birdshit on her car. She held her breath when she slid the key into the lock, and sighed explosively when it worked! She twisted it carefully and stepped in quickly, pulling it closed behind her with grim determination. Finally, she could really show that bitch who she was. She was going to—

"Oh shit!"

The miniscule canine, some kind of Chihuahua, came bounding around the corner like an excited brown tennis ball, yapping as it hopped around her, stupid little tail wiggling like crazy. Donna let out a nervous laugh; she had already forgotten about the dog, and had gotten the fright of her life when it suddenly and erratically began circling her feet.

"Hush, you stupid rat," she said, and nudged it away with her foot. She snuck through the kitchen, looking left and right and wondering where to start. Magda's house wasn't laid out like hers, and she had no idea where the bedroom would be. Maybe it was best to start upstairs and work her way down? She started up the stairs, looking up to a corridor with doors leading off it, when suddenly she had a jolt even more vicious than the surprise appearance of a dog: a sound that couldn't be anything other than a key turning in the front door deadbolt behind her.

The still-yapping small vermin heard it too and it darted towards the front door, paws skidding on the parquet. Donna cast a look towards the front door just as it started to open, hurried up the last few steps fast-fast-fast-fast, opened the door closest to her in wild panic and tried to close it behind her as quietly-but-fast as possible. She leaned back on it, her heart thumping so hard she was sure the whole neighborhood could hear.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Magda's voice was muffled through the door. "Hush, Peanut. Mommy forgot her lunch, that's all. You can stop barking now."

The voice carried a little differently, and Donna guessed she was walking towards the kitchen.

"Really, boy. Enough already."

Magda started to sound a little irritated, and the dog stopped yapping. Thud-thud-thud, said Donna's heart, in the following quiet, and she strained her ears. She couldn't hear anything, but she was sure that at any second Magda would yank the door open, and she would fall backwards into the corridor, and she would be busted, and—

The front door closed. Donna stood, frigid, wide-eyed, for a full five minutes, before she slumped and breathed out. Quite the burglar, she thought. Almost caught red handed on my first job.

She let out a small, nervous giggle and eyed the room. This might have been a kid's bedroom once upon a time, but now it seemed to be some kind of recreational room. There was an exercise bike in the corner, a yoga mat, and a set of weights on one side, TV and a DVD player on a shelf on the other side, a single bed curiously at the center of the floor, and some kind of a machine on the foot of it. She stepped closer and felt her jaw drop.

Attached to the machine was a penis on a shaft. Dildo, Donna thought to herself. Artificial penises were called dildos. It was very convincing and authentic looking, with bulging veins along its shaft and a pair of testicles attached to the base. The only thing that made it nonrealistic was the color; it was translucent and purple. Donna looked at the bed, at the machine, then probed the dildo carefully with a fingertip. It felt soft and rubbery, wobbling at her touch.

Donna had never seen anything like it before, but it didn't take much imagination to deduce what it was for. She circled the bed, and on the other side of it there was a box full of dicks. Magda had a box full of dicks. Different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some with a hole at the base, for attachment to the machine she supposed, and some without. In addition, there were other devices, which Donna guessed were also aimed at... self-indulgence.

She eyed the room again. There was a lockable walk-in closet, open now, and it didn't take much deductive reasoning to see that was where Magda hid her... equipment... when her kids came to visit. Donna turned to look towards the TV, suspicious now of what Magda might be watching while taking care of herself, when her gaze swept across the window and she gasped.

This room was on the side of the house facing hers, and from this window Donna could, quite effortlessly, see down into her own bedroom. She instantly remembered all the times she had undressed, often setting her clothes on the chair in front of the window, and blushed. Then she remembered all the times she had laid on the bed, the side of the bed most visible, where she'd spent so much time masturbating recently, and she blushed a shade or two deeper. It did occur to her that the view had not been unobstructed before she herself had butchered the tree that stood conveniently in the line of sight, but all feeling of responsibility dissolved when she spotted a pair of small binoculars at the windowsill.

Donna hovered, looking towards her house, then around the room. Maybe Magda wasn't watching her. Maybe the binoculars were for some entirely innocent reason, although she was pretty sure Magda wasn't into ornithology. She turned away and went to check the TV. It was positioned diagonally to the bed, undoubtedly so that Magda could see the screen when... Donna glanced back towards the bed and blushed again.

She opened the cupboard under the TV set, kneeling before it, and gasped. Neatly stacked rows of DVDs, all arranged alphabetically by title. So much porn. After examining a few, she discovered they were mostly of the lesbian variety. Nearly all. All? Donna stared at the cover of one, maybe the fifth she'd picked up, and felt her eyebrows rising higher and higher. The Office (Sapphic version) was printed on top, and in the picture there were two middle-aged women locked in a passionate embrace. One was taller and slimmer, red-haired, and the other was short and plump, with enormous breasts. She hadn't known people like that featured in porn, not that she knew very much about the subject.

Donna tried, but somehow couldn't bring herself to put it back down. She looked at the piles of disks, clutching The Office movie to her chest, and finally closed the doors and stood up. She didn't have a clear plan in mind, but she didn't want to part with the film before having a chance to take a closer look. In her head, she was repeating What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?

She left the room reluctantly and checked the rest of upstairs. Her mind wasn't in her burglary anymore, but she checked each room dutifully to see what was where. She had again forgotten about the dog, and had another near heart attack when it ran up to her, yapping its teeny head off, when she came downstairs.

"Shut up, or I'll make the world's tiniest pelt out of you," she said, threateningly. It looked at her with its annoyingly bright eyes and tilted its head, but mercifully shut its mouth. Donna checked the downstairs and, not wanting to leave without having done some kind of a prank, diluted Magda's orange juice with tap water before skulking back to her own house.

***

Donna squirmed on the couch. She had just watched Magda's DVD for the second time, and there was no denying that she was all hot and bothered. It was an amazingly erotic film, not at all how Donna had imagined porn to be, although it was porn: no doubt about it. It was very explicit, very light on plot, and very heavy on a cast of women sneaking around and fucking in each other's offices. It took her a long time to realize that the title was a play on the UK/US version subtitles for the respective sitcoms, and that made her snicker.

She was surprised by how much watching lesbian action turned her on. It reminded her of her few experiences: there was the one dare, when she had to kiss Tanya, and the one girl at college, Daisy, whom she had seriously been attracted to, but then Daisy had dropped out and... and then she had gone steady with Ollie, and that had been the end of everything else in her love life. Her very few and very ancient experiences.

Donna didn't know how to handle that evening. Her masturbating habit had grown from when she started it to, now, an almost daily occurrence, so much so that she thought she maybe couldn't sleep without taking care of herself first. Idly she wondered if that was some kind of an early menopause symptom, because she didn't used to be this active. It wasn't that sex with Ollie had been more satisfying than masturbating. It had been different, and in a way it maybe had been more satisfying, but that wasn't all of it. She was changing.

Her thoughts kept returning to the binoculars on the windowsill. If she suddenly started to close the drapes, or undress in the bathroom and wear a robe, Magda might guess she had been found out. Maybe, especially if she realized that her orange juice had tasted different. She also didn't want to change her ways, she loved masturbating naked on her bed, but Magda might be looking at her! How could she possibly masturbate with someone looking? Just the idea of being watched made her dizzy, but if that someone was that bitch?

It had been getting harder to summon her hatred of Magda. Harder, but not impossible.

She could masturbate on the couch. Or in the bath, though that had lost some of its previous appeal after the Girl Scout incident, but that would only postpone the inevitable. She snorted at herself, then went to check on Magda's car. It wasn't in the driveway. Encouraged, extremely aroused and strangely defiant, she strode to the bedroom, undressed at her usual spot by the window, and threw herself on the bed.

She came harder than she had in a long time. Maybe ever. Thinking of the lesbian movie, combined with nervously considering the possibility of Magda having come home just then and peeking through the window, sent her crashing over the edge with such force that she cried out and thrashed about on the bed.

Her dreams were restless, and in the morning she remembered only that Magda had been in them.

***

Donna settled into her favorite armchair, set her freshly brewed coffee on the table beside her, and sighed. She'd been putting off calling her youngest, and was, frankly, embarrassed to be caught out avoiding her own child. It was the kind of thing they usually did to her, and that got her back up. He'd said he was going to call, so she'd be ready when he did. In her favorite chair. With her favorite coffee in her favorite deer mug.

There was a chill in the air, it being mid-November, so she had the space heater on inside her covered back porch. Once upon a time Ollie would have had something to say about where she'd put the space heater, so close to the wicker table between her chair and the chair where he used to sit, but Ollie had less and less to say as the year wore on. Even in her head, where she had heard his voice as clear as day, as if he had been in the room, her late husband had drifted into silence as the months wore on.

She picked up her favorite book, intent on reading what she could while she waited. When she'd first read it, as a teen, she'd liked the dream-like magical realism of the tale, and the protagonist's unique interactions with the miniature dwarves that lived in her walls. As she'd gotten older, she'd been drawn to the curiously interconnected themes of independence and trust. Of late, though, she had found that the relationship between the protagonist and her rival had more layers than she'd realized, and she was enjoying it again with fresh eyes for what felt like the third time in her life.

She'd only managed to read a few pages when her tablet buzzed on the table beside her, and she swiped across the screen to unlock and answer. Henry, Chrissy's slightly younger twin brother, smiled brightly at her from his kitchen.

"Hey mom," he said.

She gave a little wave. "How is your day going, Nugget?"

There had been a time when calling Henry by his pet name had sent him into a fit of uncontrollable giggles, and it depressed her to realize that the distance between that time and now could be measured in decades.

"Pretty good," he said, tersely. "Job still sucks, but if they go ahead with the takeover then I'll get a whole team of associates under me. That'll be... you know... awkward and hard for a little while but I think better for me in the long run."

"Why awkward?" she asked, clinging shamelessly to any excuse to put off the inevitable.