Living in suburbia has its perks—quiet streets, friendly neighbors, and well-kept lawns. But sometimes, things can get a little too close for comfort. That’s exactly what happened when my new neighbor, Lisa, moved in next door and decided to hang her laundry, specifically her underwear, right outside my 8-year-old son’s bedroom window.

It all started innocently enough. I, Kristie, was enjoying a typical Tuesday, folding laundry in my son Jake’s room, when I glanced out the window and nearly dropped my coffee. Right outside, in full view, was a pair of bright pink, lacy underwear flapping in the breeze. And that wasn’t all—there was an entire rainbow of undergarments swaying in the wind like it was some sort of personal Victoria’s Secret runway.

“Mom, why does Mrs. Lisa have her underwear outside?” Jake asked, his innocent eyes wide with curiosity. His next question caught me off guard: “Are they slingshots?”

My face flushed with embarrassment. “Uh, sweetie, Mrs. Lisa just really likes fresh air for her clothes,” I stammered, quickly pulling the curtains shut. “Let’s give her laundry some privacy, okay?”

But the problem didn’t stop there. Every day, like clockwork, Lisa’s colorful assortment of lingerie made an appearance outside Jake’s window. Each day, I found myself shielding his eyes from what should have been a simple laundry routine. Things took a turn when Jake, ever the curious child, asked why Lisa had “so many small underwear with strings” and wondered if they were for her pet hamster. I had no idea how to explain “thongs” to an 8-year-old.

That’s when I knew something had to change. Lisa was friendly enough, but her laundry habits were starting to interfere with our lives. So, I decided it was time to talk to her.

The next day, I marched over to Lisa’s house with a polite but firm intention. When she answered the door, looking fresh out of a shampoo commercial, I smiled and got straight to the point. “Hi, Lisa. I was hoping we could chat about your laundry—specifically, where you hang it.”

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “What about it? Is it too fashion-forward for the neighborhood?” she asked, clearly amused.

“Well,” I started, “it’s just that it’s right in front of my son’s window. Jake’s been asking some… interesting questions about your underwear, and I think it’s best if you move the clothesline somewhere else.”

To my surprise, Lisa waved off my concerns. “They’re just clothes! What’s the big deal? It’s my yard, my rules. Maybe you should lighten up,” she said, slamming the door before I could respond.

That was it. Lisa had crossed the line, and I knew exactly how to handle it.

That night, I got creative. I bought the loudest, most obnoxious fabric I could find—bright flamingo pink—and set to work on my sewing machine. By morning, I had crafted the world’s largest pair of granny panties. They were so huge that they could probably double as a tent.

As soon as Lisa left for errands, I strung up my creation right in front of her living room window. The massive pink underwear billowed in the wind like a giant flag. It was impossible to miss.

Later, I watched from my kitchen window as Lisa returned home. Her jaw dropped when she saw the enormous granny panties flapping in the breeze. “What the hell?” she shrieked.

I casually walked outside. “Oh, hi, Lisa! Just thought I’d join in on the laundry fun. Like my new addition?”

Lisa was furious but quickly realized I wasn’t backing down. After a heated exchange, she begrudgingly agreed to move her laundry line. Victory was mine, and peace was restored.

From that day forward, Lisa’s underwear stayed far away from Jake’s window, and I never had to explain “slingshot” underwear again. As for those giant flamingo undies? They now make the best conversation piece—and curtains—in my living room!