My eight-year-old son’s window was the center of attention for weeks due to my neighbor’s underwear. I decided to put an end to this panty parade and give her a serious lesson in laundry etiquette when he asked her, innocuously, if her thongs were slingshots.
Suburban life, ah! where, primarily due to the superiority of your neighbor’s sprinkler system over yours, the grass is always greener on the opposite side. That’s where I, Thompson’s wife Kristie, chose to establish roots with my son Jake, age 8. Before Lisa, our new neighbor next door, got in, life was as smooth as a freshly botoxed forehead.
On a Tuesday, it all began. I recall it because, thanks to Jake’s most recent fixation, I was folding a mound of tiny superhero underwear on laundry day.
I almost suffocated on my coffee as I peered out his bedroom window. A pair of hot pink, lacy panties was there, waving in the breeze like the most inappropriate flag ever.
They weren’t alone, either. My son’s window was directly in front of a rainbow of underpants swirling in the breeze, so, oh no, they had buddies.
I mumbled, “Holy guacamole,” and dropped two Batman briefs. “Is this a laundry line or Victoria’s Secret runway?”
“Mom, why does Mrs. Lisa have her underwear outside?” echoed Jake from behind me.
My face was scorching hotter than my broken dryer. “Well, my dear. Mrs. Lisa simply enjoys being outside. How about we draw the curtains now? Allow some solitude for the laundry.”
“But Mom,” Jake said, his eyes bright with naive inquiry, “shouldn’t mine go outside too, since Mrs. Lisa’s underwear appreciates fresh air? Perhaps my Hulk underwear might become buddies with hers!”
I choked back a giggle that was about to explode into a sob of hysteria. “Honey, you have shy underwear. It would rather be indoors, where it is comfortable.”
I couldn’t help but think, “Kristie, welcome to the neighborhood,” as I ushered Jake out. I hope you brought a strong pair of curtains and your sense of humor.”
Weeks passed, and Lisa’s laundry show was as pleasant as a cold cup of coffee with a splash of curdled milk, and it became as regular as my morning java.
Each day brought a fresh selection of underwear to my son’s window, and each day I was forced to play the unpleasant game of “shield the child’s eyes.”
One afternoon, I was in the kitchen making a snack when Jake ran in, his face so full of delight and perplexity that it made my mom sense prickle with fear.
“Mom,” he said in that tone that always prefaces a query I wasn’t expecting, “why is Mrs. Lisa’s underwear so colorful? Why do some of them have such tiny sizes? using strings? Are they for her hamster companion?”
I almost dropped the peanut butter knife I was wielding because I could just picture Lisa’s face when she heard I thought her underwear was the size of a rat.
“Well, honey,” I stumbled and bought time, “everyone has different tastes in clothing.” even those that we don’t often see.”
Jake gave a wise nod, as though I had shared some profound insight. “It’s similar to how I enjoy wearing my superhero underwear, but more mature? Does Mrs. Lisa pursue criminals after hours? Does this explain why her underwear is so tiny? for the sake of aerodynamics?”
I gasped for breath, torn between dread and laughter. “Well, not quite, my dear. Lisa is not a superwoman. She simply exudes confidence.”
“Oh,” Jake replied, appearing a little let down. Then his smile returned.
“But Mom, can I hang my underpants outside too, since Mrs. Lisa can? If my Captain America boxers flailed in the wind, I bet they would look really awesome!”
I apologized to him, stroking his hair. “Your panties are unique. To protect your secret identity, it must remain hidden.
I glanced out the window at Lisa’s brightly colored underpants display while Jake nodded and went to work eating his snack.
This has to stop. It was time to talk to our ostentatious neighbor. 😡
I walked briskly over to Lisa’s house the following day.
I put on my best “concerned neighbor” grin as I rang the doorbell—the same grin I use to assure the HOA that my garden gnomes are whimsical rather than unpleasant.
Lisa responded, appearing as though she had just come out of an advertisement for shampoo.
“Hey, hello there! Yes, Kristie?” She scowled.
“You’re correct! Lisa, I wanted to talk to you about something. Listen.”
Her eyebrow shot up as she leaned against the doorframe. “Oh? What are your thoughts? Want to borrow a sugar cup? or even a confident cup?” She cast a critical gaze at my mother’s baggy t-shirt and pants.
Reminding myself that jail orange was not my hue, I inhaled deeply. It has to do with your laundry. In particular, where it is hung.”
Lisa wrinkled her nicely groomed eyebrows. “Laundry? Me? How about it? Does it go too far in style for the area?”
“Well, it’s only that my son’s window is directly in front of it. Particularly the underwear, I guess. It’s a little too open. Jake is beginning to enquire. He inquired yesterday as to whether your thongs were slingshots.
“Ah, sweetheart. After all, they’re just clothes! I’m not hanging up nuclear launch codes or anything. Though my leopard print bikini panties are very explosive, only between us!”
One of my eyes twitched. “I realize, but Jake is just eight years old. He is inquisitive. He asked to hang his Superman panties next to your “crime-fighting gear” this morning.
That seems like a great chance to learn a little bit, then. Thank you very much! Here, I’m essentially providing a public service. And why is your son even worth caring about? It’s my backyard. Get tough!”
“Excuse me?”
Lisa dismissedively waved her hand. “Listen, you might need to relax up if a couple pairs of underwear are bothering you that much. My yard, my rules apply. Take care of it. Alternatively, get some more adorable underpants. If you’d like, I could provide you some advice.”
Then she shut the door in my face, leaving me standing there, possibly sucking flies with my mouth open.
I was taken aback. “Oh, it is on,” I turned on my heel and grumbled. “Want to play a game of dirty laundry? Lisa, it’s game on. “Game on!” 😈
I sat at my sewing machine that evening.
In front of me were yards of the most gaudy, blinding cloth I could locate. It was the sort of material that might be visible from space and could perhaps draw in extraterrestrial life!
“You think your little lacy numbers are something to see, Lisa?” As I fed the cloth through the machine, I mumbled. “Await the realization of this. E.T. will call home regarding these infants.”
After several hours, my creation was finally finished: the biggest, loudest pair of granny panties ever. 🤣
They were just little enough to support my point, loud enough to be audible from space, and large enough to serve as a parachute.
My underwear was like a fabric foghorn, if Lisa’s was just a whisper.
I took immediate action that afternoon when I observed Lisa’s car leave her driveway.
My enormous flamingo underwear and homemade clothesline ready, I scampered across our lawns, hiding behind plants and yard accents.
I set up my work just in front of Lisa’s living room window while it was still clear. Gazing at my creation from a distance, I couldn’t help but smile.
The enormous flamingo panties gracefully billowed in the afternoon wind. They were certainly big enough to serve as a camping tent for a family of four.
I murmured, “Take that, Lisa,” and quickly left for home. “Let’s try a taste of your own medication to see how you like it. The area is about to get BRIGHT, so I hope you packed your shades.”
When I got back to my residence, I stood by the window. I was waiting for Lisa to find out about my small surprise, just like a child waiting for Santa to bring gifts.
Minutes passed past in the span of hours.
The sound of Lisa’s car rolling into the driveway gave me the impression that she had decided to turn her errands into an unannounced holiday.
It’s time to show.
Stepping outside with her arms full with shopping bags, Lisa froze. Her jaw fell so quickly I thought it could break. Her grip on the bags gave way, causing their contents to fall into the driveway.
I think I saw some panties with polka dots roll across the grass. Elegant, Lisa. 😏
“WHAT THE HELL…??” She let out a cry that was audible to everyone in the neighborhood. Is that a canopy? Was there a circus in town?
I dissolved into giggles. Watching Lisa storm up to the enormous underwear and yank at them inanely brought tears to my eyes. It resembled seeing a chihuahua attempt to subdue a Great Dane.
I composed myself and went for a walk outside. “Hey Lisa, hello! Putting up some new décor? I adore the changes you’ve made to the space. Extremely innovative.”
Her face as pink as my creation’s underwear, she spun around on me. “You! You accomplished this! What is the matter with you? Do you intend to signal an airplane?”
I gave a shrug. “I’m just doing some laundry. That’s what neighbors do, isn’t it? I believed that we were beginning a trend.”
“This isn’t laundry!” With a furiously gesticulating hand, Lisa let forth a yell. “This is… this is…”
“A learning opportunity?” I made a kind suggestion. “For the youngsters in the neighborhood, you know. Jake has a strong interest in underwear aerodynamics. A hands-on presentation, I believed, may be beneficial.”
Like a fish out of water, Lisa’s mouth moved back and forth. She finally managed a spit of “Take. It. Down.”
I gave a reflective tap on the chin. “Well, I’m not sure. It’s getting a breeze, which I kind of like. It really lets the dust settle, you know? In addition, I believe it’s increasing property values. Not much screams “upscale neighborhood” like enormous novelty underpants.”
I had a brief fear that Lisa would burst into flames. Then her shoulders dropped, which surprised me. “Alright,” she murmured with clenched teeth. “You prevail. I’ll relocate my washing. Please, just pull down this monstrosity. My retinas are blazing.
I laughed and held out my hand. “Agree. However, I must admit that I believe flamingos are your hue.”
I couldn’t resist adding, as we shook hands, “By the way, Lisa? Greetings from the neighborhood. Here, we’re all a little insane. Simply put, some of us conceal it better than others.”
Lisa’s laundry vanished from the clothesline outside Jake’s window after that day. She never brought it up again, and I was spared her “life lessons” as well.
And me? Let’s just say that I now own a pair of really intriguing curtains made of flamingo cloth. Don’t waste, don’t want?
In Jake’s case, the disappearance of the “underwear slingshots” disappointed him a little. However, I told him that sometimes being a superhero requires you to hide your undergarments. What if he ever spots enormous flamingo undies soaring across the sky? That’s simply Mom pulling off one crazy practical joke at a time to save the neighborhood! 😉
