For weeks, my neighbor’s underwear became the star of the show right outside my 8-year-old son’s bedroom window. When my son innocently asked if her thongs were slingshots, I knew it was time to put an end to this “lingerie display” and teach her a real lesson in laundry etiquette.

Ah, suburbia! Where life is peaceful, lawns are manicured, and neighbors rarely cause a stir — or so I thought. I’m Kristie, happily settled with my husband Thompson and our son Jake, and everything was running smoothly until our new neighbor, Lisa, moved in next door. That’s when things took an awkward turn.

It all started on a typical Tuesday. I remember it clearly because it was laundry day, and I was folding Jake’s tiny superhero underwear while he played in his room. I glanced out the window and nearly spit out my coffee. Flapping in the wind, right outside Jake’s window, was a pair of hot pink, lacy panties. And they weren’t alone. It looked like a full rainbow of undies, swaying in the breeze, directly in front of my son’s room.

“Holy guacamole,” I muttered, dropping a pair of Batman briefs. “Is this a laundry line or a Victoria’s Secret runway?”

Of course, Jake, with all the curiosity of an 8-year-old, asked, “Mom, why does Mrs. Lisa hang her underwear outside?”

I could feel my face getting hotter by the second. “Uh, sweetie, Mrs. Lisa just really likes fresh air. How about we close these curtains and give her laundry some privacy?”

“But Mom,” Jake persisted, “if her underwear likes fresh air, shouldn’t mine go outside too? Maybe my Hulk undies could make friends with her pink ones!”

I stifled a laugh that almost turned into a cry. “Honey, your underwear is… shy. It likes to stay inside where it’s nice and cozy.”

As I ushered Jake out of the room, I thought to myself, “Welcome to the neighborhood, Kristie. Hope you’re ready for some laughs — and sturdy curtains.”

Days passed, and Lisa’s laundry show became a regular part of our lives. Every day, a new selection of colorful underwear would appear outside Jake’s window, and every day, I played defense, shielding my child’s eyes from the ever-present parade of panties.

One afternoon, as I was preparing a snack in the kitchen, Jake burst in, his face a mix of confusion and excitement that always made my “mom-radar” buzz.

“Mom,” he started, in that tone that meant an awkward question was coming, “why does Mrs. Lisa have so many different colors of underwear? And why are some of them so small? Are they for her pet hamster?”

I nearly dropped the knife I was using to spread peanut butter. “Well, honey,” I stammered, trying to think fast, “everyone has their preferences for clothes, even the ones we don’t normally see.”

Jake nodded thoughtfully. “So, it’s like how I love my superhero underwear, but for grown-ups? Does Mrs. Lisa fight crime at night? Is that why her underwear is so small? For, like, aerodynamics?”

I choked on air, trying not to laugh. “Uh, not exactly, sweetie. Mrs. Lisa isn’t a superhero. She’s just… very confident.”

Jake looked a little disappointed, but then his face brightened. “But Mom, if Mrs. Lisa can hang her underwear outside, can I hang mine too? My Captain America boxers would look awesome flapping in the wind!”

“Sorry, buddy,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Your underwear is special. It’s got to stay hidden to protect your secret identity.”

As Jake munched on his snack, I stared out the window at Lisa’s flamboyant undies. This couldn’t go on. It was time for a chat with our laundry-loving neighbor.

The next day, I marched over to Lisa’s house, determined to resolve the situation. I rang the doorbell with my best “concerned neighbor” smile ready.

“Oh, hi there! Kristie, right?” Lisa greeted me, looking like she just stepped out of a shampoo commercial.

“That’s right! I wanted to chat about something,” I said, taking a deep breath.

Lisa raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Need to borrow a cup of sugar?”

I shook my head, trying to stay calm. “It’s about your laundry. Specifically, where you hang it.”

Lisa’s perfectly manicured brows furrowed. “What about it? Is it too fashion-forward for the neighborhood?”

“Well,” I began, “it’s just that it’s right in front of my son’s window, and, um, the underwear… it’s a bit much. Jake’s been asking questions. Yesterday, he thought your thongs were slingshots.”

“Oh, honey, they’re just clothes! It’s not like I’m hanging nuclear codes. Besides, my leopard print bikini bottoms are pretty explosive!”

I was stunned. It was clear she didn’t care, so I muttered, “Game on, Lisa. Game on.” That night, I made the biggest pair of granny panties the world had ever seen and strung them outside her window. The next morning, Lisa’s reaction was priceless. And the best part? Her laundry never appeared outside Jake’s window again.