For weeks, my neighbor’s underpants dominated the view outside my 8-year-old son’s window. When he asked if her thongs were slingshots,
I knew it was time to act.Life in suburbia had been calm until Lisa, our flashy new neighbor, moved in. One laundry day,
I laughed but knew I had to address it. Later, Jake asked if her tiny underwear was for
a pet hamster or for superhero aerodynamics. I said, “She’s just… confident.”
The next day, I rang Lisa’s doorbell. “My son’s window faces your line,” I said. “He thinks your thongs are slingshots.” She laughed and dismissed me.
So I retaliated. I crafted an enormous pair of flamingo-print granny panties and hung them proudly in front of her window.
Her scream was glorious. “Take it down!”
“Sure,” I said, “once you move your line.”
She did.
Her laundry vanished. Mine? I turned that flamingo fabric into curtains — a cheeky tribute to suburban warfare.
