I'd Been There, Don't You?

Donna Boyle's son, Benji, mowed her lawn. She had to get the rest of the cookies out of the oven and put in dinner. Someone knocked on my front door. I picked up a decorated tree and crammed it into my mouth over the objections of the decorators because everything in this house was mine. Her husband Terry started to move a patio chase; Ruth turned as he sank down and sort of sat on the ground.