For weeks, my neighbor’s underwear was the main attraction just outside my 8-year-old son’s window. When he asked her whether her thongs were slingshots, I knew it was time to end the panty parade and teach her a hard lesson about doing laundry.
Ah, the suburbs! When you look at your neighbor’s lawn, it always looks greener because they have a superior watering system. We chose to live there with Emily, Mark’s wife, and our 8-year-old son Ben. Things were going well until Carly, our new neighbor, came in next door.
It all started on a Tuesday. I remember this day well since it was laundry day and Ben loved to bury me under a pile of small superhero underwear.
I almost threw up my coffee when I spotted him peering out his bedroom window. There was a pair of lacy, hot pink underwear that looked like a really awful flag waving in the breeze.
And they weren’t alone. Nope. They had friends—underwear of all colors blowing in the wind just outside my son’s window.
“Wow,” I said, and dropped a pair of Spider-Man underwear. “Is this a runway for Victoria’s Secret or a laundry line?”
“Mom, why is Mrs. Carly’s underwear outside?” Ben’s voice was behind me.
My face was hotter than the dryer, which was running too hard. “Uh, honey. Mrs. Carly likes being outside. All right, let’s shut these curtains. “Leave the laundry alone.”
“But Mom,” Ben exclaimed, his eyes wide with amazement. “If Mrs. Carly’s underwear likes the fresh air, shouldn’t mine go outside too?” My Hulk underwear and her pink underwear might be able to get along!
I almost laughed out loud, but I was able to stop myself before it escalated into a full-blown cry. “Sweetheart, your underwear is shy.” The underwear likes to stay inside where it feels safe and warm.
I said to myself, “Welcome to the neighborhood, Emily,” as I took Ben away. I hope you brought your patience and some strong curtains.
Days turned into weeks, and Carly’s washing show became as normal as my morning coffee and as welcoming as a cold cup of old coffee.
Every day, a new line of panties came to Ben’s window. And every day, I had to play a crazy game of “distract the kid.”
One afternoon, when I was making a snack, Ben ran into the kitchen. His face showed both happiness and confusion, which was never a good indication for me.
“Mom,” he remarked in that tone that always meant trouble, “why does Mrs. Carly have so many pairs of underwear in different colors?” And why are some of them so tiny? With strings? Are they for her pet hamster?
When I thought of how Carly would respond to the idea of hamster-sized panties, I almost dropped the knife I was using to spread jelly.
I said in a low voice, trying to sound cool, “Well, honey, everyone has different tastes in clothes.” Even the ones we don’t see much have their own unique fashion tastes.
Ben nodded slowly, as if I had just told him the secret of the universe. “So it’s like how I love my superhero underwear, but for grown-ups? Does Mrs. Carly fight crime at night? Is that why her underwear is so tight? “To go fast?”
I couldn’t breathe because I was half laughing and half afraid. “Uh, not really, man. Mrs. Carly is not a hero; she just knows what she wants.
Ben said, “Oh,” and looked a little sad. But then his eyes lit up again.
“But Mom, Mrs. Carly can hang her underwear outside, so why can’t I?” I bet my Captain America boxers would look great flying around!
I said, “Sorry, buddy,” and messed up his hair. “To keep your secret identity safe, you need to keep your underwear hidden.”
Ben nodded and happily ate while I stared out the window at Carly’s colorful laundry carnival.
I knew it had to stop. You need to have a serious talk with your neighbor.
The next day, I went to Carly’s residence.
I rang the bell and put on my best “worried neighbor” face, the same one I used when I informed the HOA that my lawn gnomes weren’t “offensive,” just “quirky.”
Carly opened the door and looked like she had just come out of a hair salon.
“Hey there!” Is it Emily? She asked, squinting.
“That’s true!” Hey Carly, I wanted to talk to you about something.
She raised her eyebrow and leaned against the door frame. “Oh? Do you need to borrow some sugar? Or maybe you want some advice on how to look better? She looked at my messy ponytail and sweats.
I took a deep breath and told myself in my head that being charged with violence would ruin my week. “It’s about your clothes.” Where you put it, in particular.
Her eyebrows went up. “Is that my laundry?” What do you think? Is this block too cool?
“All it is… It is just in front of my son’s window. The underwear really stands out. He is beginning to ask some interesting questions. He thought your thongs were slingshots yesterday.
“Oh, honey. They’re only clothing! I’m not giving out secret papers or anything. My leopard print ones, on the other hand, are very well camouflaged! She laughed, and my eye twitched.
“I understand what you mean, but Ben is just eight. He is… fascinated. He asked you this morning if he may hang his superhero undies next to your “crime-fighting gear.”
“Sounds like a great chance to learn!” You’re welcome. I’m actually doing a lot for the area. And why should I be interested in your child? This is my property. “Get over it.”
“Excuse me?”
She waved her hand as if she were trying to get rid of a bug. “Maybe you should calm down if a few pairs of underwear are bothering you that much.” The rules I make apply to my property. You might want to buy some nicer underwear. I could tell you how to shop.
She slammed the door and left me standing on the porch with my mouth open.
I couldn’t believe it. I murmured, “Oh, it’s on,” and ran home. “Do you want to fight over the laundry? Let’s get going.
That night, I began to stitch.
There were yards of the most ridiculous, eye-burning fabric I could find on my table. This cloth is so bright that it could be able to get aliens to come.
“Do you think your pretty underwear is cool, Carly?” As I fed the fabric through the machine, I complained. “Just wait until you see this.”
After hours of work, I finally finished my masterpiece: the biggest, dumbest pair of granny panties ever made.
They were so enormous that they could be used as a tent, and they were so bright that a plane could see them.
My underwear screamed, while Carly’s whispered.
As soon as I saw her car leave that afternoon, I made my move.
I tiptoed across the grass, hiding behind plants and lawn decorations, with my improvised clothesline and my huge flamingo underwear.
When the coast was clear, I put up what I crafted directly in front of her living room window. I took a step back and looked at what I had done.
The big flamingo underwear proudly waved in the wind. The whole family can have a picnic there.
As I ran home, I whispered, “Take that, Carly.” “Good luck not seeing that view.”
I stood by the window like a child waiting for Santa. This time, though, I was waiting for Carly to lose her mind instead of her toys.
It felt like hours passed.
Finally, I heard her car pull up.
Time to leave.
Carly stopped outside with her arms full of shopping bags. Carly’s jaw dropped so low that it might have hit the ground. The bags dropped all over the room.
I think I saw a polka dot bra roll across the yard. Nice.
“What the heck?” She yelled so loudly that birds flew from the roofs. “Is that a parachute?” “Did the circus come to town?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I cried when I saw her pull and hit the huge panties, feeling helpless.
I finally departed, trying hard to keep my face straight. “Hey, Carly! Are those new decorations? They definitely make the yard pop!
Her face was red when she turned around. “You! Did you do this? What’s wrong with you? “Are you trying to get satellites to stop?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Just putting the laundry away.” Isn’t it what we’re all doing? We thought we were creating a trend that would be popular in the area.
She yelled, “This isn’t funny!” and waved at the underpants. “This is… this is…”
“A time to learn?” I stated it right. “Ben wanted to know how big underwear operated. “Very informative.”
Carly opened and closed her mouth but couldn’t utter anything. Finally, “Take it down.”
I tapped my chin. “Oh no. I like it a little bit. It truly makes the roadway bright. It might make the property worth more.
For a second, I thought she might die. After that, she gave up and fell down. She frowned and responded, “Okay.” “You win.” I’m going to move my clothes. Get rid of the thing. “My eyes hurt.”
I laughed and put out my hand. “Deal.” But I have to agree that flamingo is the perfect hue for you.
As we shook hands, I said, “Oh, and welcome to the neighborhood.” We all have our own weird things about ourselves; some of us just show them in different ways.
Ben couldn’t see Carly’s laundry from his window after that day. I didn’t have to answer any more annoying questions because she never brought it up again.
What about me? I now have a great set of flamingo curtains. You don’t desire what you don’t need, do you?
And what about Ben? At first, he was unhappy that he couldn’t utilize his “underwear slingshot” idea anymore, but I told him that good heroes usually keep their underwear hidden. What if he ever saw enormous flamingo underwear in the sky? That only meant that Mom was out there, saving the day with a big joke every time.
