My neighbor’s undies stole the spotlight right outside my 8-year-old son’s window for weeks. When he innocently asked if her thongs were slingshots, I knew it was time to end this panty parade and teach her a serious lesson in laundry etiquette.
Ah, suburbia! Where the grass is always greener on the other side, mainly because your neighbor’s sprinkler system is better than yours. That’s where I, Kristie, wife of Thompson, decided to plant my roots with my 8-year-old son, Jake. Life was as smooth as a freshly botoxed forehead until our new neighbor, Lisa, moved in next door.
Drone view of a picturesque neighborhood
It started on a Tuesday. I remember because it was laundry day, and I was folding a mountain of tiny superhero underwear, courtesy of Jake’s latest obsession.
Glancing out his bedroom window, I nearly choked on my coffee. There, flapping in the breeze like the world’s most inappropriate flag, was a pair of hot pink, lacy panties.
And they weren’t alone. Oh no, they had friends — an entire rainbow of undies dancing in the wind, right in front of my son’s window.
