“So, I’m going to kill my neighbor,” I spoke up, after staring at the peanut butter jar for twenty seconds.

“Mhm.”

Said peanut butter jar was lifted, a large spoonful of peanut butter was scooped out, then it was set back down.

“I mean it.  If she throws her garbage in my trashcan one more time, I am going to kill her.” Pass the peanut butter jar, a blurred-out slice of white bread rested on the counter.

“Mhm.”

Said bread was lifted, a corner crust crumb falling back on the counter, as the spoonful of peanut butter was smeared over the store bought baked product.

“I know it’s her, too. She’s the only one who uses lavender scented trash bags.”

“Of course.”

Sweeping the fallen crumb into my hand, I walked over to garbage can to discover that it was full. With a groaned, I brushed the crumb off my palm and watched it land on top of the trash, then bounce back onto the floor again. “I swear she waits until the middle of the night to throw her garbage out, too. I can spend all evening staring out that window, waiting for her to show up, until I fall asleep. But, it’s always there the next morning.” With a huff, I pulled the bag out of the trash can, and a wave of light flowers filled the kitchen.

“Mhm.” I listened to Connor crunch down on his toast and chew the pieces loudly. Tying the ends together roughly, I struggled to shift the trash down to the bottom so it was easier to carry.

“I mean, what kind of person puts their trash in someone else’s trash can, anyway?” I went over to the sink and searched underneath for the box with the light purple flowers on it.

“Mm?”

“The worst kind, I tell you.” Finding the box, I pulled a fresh bag from it as the kitchen filled with more lightly scented flowers, and shook it open to put in the trashcan.

“Mhm.”

“You know, you could at least try to think of something to say besides, ‘Mhm’.” Slamming the lid back down, I picked up the full trash bag and carried it outside.

While I was gone, Connor simply lifted the empty bottle of generic Donepezil with my name on it, shook the bottle once, then set it back down with a slight smile.

The door opened and slammed as I came inside, exasperated. “That’s it, where’s the shotgun. She’s at it again.”

With another crunch of his toast, my roommate pointed to the empty bottle and spoke with his mouth full, “You missed one.”

“Gee, thanks,” I took a deep breath, then threw my hands up in frustrated. “God, now the whole house smells like freakin’ lavender! I hate lavender!”