For weeks, my neighbor’s underwear was the main event just outside my 8-year-old son’s window. I knew it was time to stop the panty parade and teach her how to wash clothes when he asked her if her thongs were slingshots.
The suburbs! It always looks like the grass is greener on the other side, largely because your neighbor has a better way to water their yard. We chose to live there with Mark’s wife, Emily, and our 8-year-old son, Ben. Things were going well until our new neighbor, Carly, moved in next door.
It all began on a Tuesday. I remember this day well because it was laundry day and Ben liked to bury me in a pile of little superhero underwear.
I almost threw up my coffee when I saw him looking out of his bedroom window. There was a pair of hot pink lace panties that looked like a really bad flag waving in the wind.
They weren’t the only ones. They were not by themselves at all. They had friends—a full rainbow of underwear blowing in the wind right outside my son’s window.
I yelled, “Oh my God,” and let go of a pair of Spider-Man underwear. “Is this a line for laundry or a runway for Victoria’s Secret?”
“Why does Mrs. Carly have her underwear on the outside, Mom?” I heard Ben’s voice behind me.
My face was hotter than my drier, which was working too hard. “Uh, honey. Mrs. Carly really enjoys being outside. “Let the laundry breathe,” so let’s close these curtains.
“But Mom,” Ben said, his eyes wide with shock. “Mrs. Carly’s underwear likes fresh air, so shouldn’t mine go outside too?” My Hulk underwear might be able to get along with her pink ones!
I almost laughed out loud, but I stopped myself before it turned into a full-blown weep. “Your underwear is shy, my love.” The underwear loves to stay inside where it’s warm and safe.
I thought, “Welcome to the neighborhood, Emily,” as I walked Ben away. I hope you brought some thick drapes and a lot of patience.
As the days progressed into weeks, Carly’s laundry expanded, much like my daily coffee, and it was just as soothing as a cold cup of old brew.
There were new pairs of panties at Ben’s window every day. And every day I had to play a strange game called “distract the kid.”
Ben ran into the kitchen one afternoon when I was making a snack. His face expressed both happiness and perplexity, which was never a good sign for me.
“Mom,” he said in that tone that always signaled trouble, “why does Mrs. Carly have so many pairs of colorful underwear?” And why are some of them so small? With strings? Are they for her hamster?
I almost dropped the knife I was using to spread jelly when I thought of how Carly would respond to the idea of hamster-sized underwear.
I answered quietly, trying to seem calm, “Well, honey, everyone has different tastes in clothes.” People who don’t wear clothes frequently have their own unique styles.
Ben nodded slowly, as if I had told him the secret of life. “Like how I love my superhero underwear, but for adults?” Does Mrs. Carly fight crime at night? Is that why her underwear is so small? “To go quickly?”
I choked on air, partly laughing and half scared. “Not really, dude. Mrs. Carly isn’t a hero. She just has a lot of confidence in herself.
Ben responded, “Oh,” and looked like he was let down. But then, all of a sudden, his eyes brightened up again.
“But Mom, Mrs. Carly can hang her underwear outside, so I can too?” I imagine my Captain America boxers would look awesome in the air!
I said, “Sorry, buddy,” and messed up his hair. “To protect your secret identity, you need to keep your underwear hidden.”
I looked out the window at Carly’s colorful laundry carnival while Ben nodded and ate his lunch with a smile on his face.
I knew it had to stop at some point. You should talk to your neighbor in a serious way shortly.
The next day, I went to Carly’s residence.
I rang the bell and put on my “worried neighbor” expression, the same one I wore when I told the HOA that my lawn gnomes were just “quirky” and not “offensive.”
When Carly opened the door, she looked like she had just come from a hair commercial.
“Hey!” Is this truly Emily? She asked, squinting.
“That’s right!” Hey Carly, I wanted to talk to you about something.
She raised an eyebrow and leaned against the door frame. “Oh? Do you need to borrow some sugar? Or maybe you want some tips on how to appear better? She saw my disheveled ponytail and sweatpants.
I took a deep breath and told myself that being accused of violence would destroy my week. “It’s about the clothes you wear.” Where you hang it, in particular.
She lifted her eyebrows. “Do my laundry?” What do you think? Is this block too well-liked?
“It’s just… It’s directly in front of my son’s window. The underwear definitely stands out. He’s starting to ask some interesting questions. He believed your thongs were slingshots yesterday.
“Oh, sweetie. They are simply clothes! I’m not handing away any private papers. But my garments with leopard print are very nicely hidden! She laughed, and my eye twitched.
“I get what you’re saying, but Ben is only eight.” He wants to know more. He asked this morning if he may put his superhero underwear next to your “crime-fighting gear.”
“Sounds like a fun way to learn!” No issue. I’m doing a lot to make the place better. And why should I care about your child? This is my yard. “Go on.”
“Sorry?”
She waved her hand like she was trying to get rid of a fly. “Maybe you should calm down if a few pairs of underwear are bothering you that much.” My rules only apply to my items. You might want to get some prettier undergarments. I could give you some advice on how to shop.
Then she slammed the door, leaving me stunned on the porch.
I couldn’t believe it. I said, “Oh, it’s on,” and ran home. “Do you want to argue about the laundry?” Let’s go.
That night, I began sewing.
I had yards of the most ludicrous, eye-burning linen on my table. This cloth is so brilliant that it might attract aliens.
“Hey Carly, do you think your nice underwear is cool?” I moaned as I put the fabric into the machine. “Just wait until you see this.”
I finally finished my biggest and dumbest masterpiece after hours of work: the biggest granny panties ever constructed.
They were so big that they could be used as a tent and so dazzling that a plane could see them.
My underwear yelled, but Carly’s didn’t.
When I watched her automobile leave that afternoon, I made my move right immediately.
I walked quietly across the grass, hiding behind plants and lawn decorations, using my big flamingo panties and a makeshift clothesline.
When the coast was clear, I set up what I made right in front of her living room window. I stepped back and looked at what I had done.
The enormous flamingo underwear waved in the wind with pride. The whole family can have a picnic there.
“Take that, Carly,” I murmured quietly as I rushed home. “Good luck not seeing that view.”
I stood by the window like a kid waiting for Santa. This time, though, I was waiting for Carly to go berserk instead of toys.
Minutes felt like hours.
I finally heard her automobile come to a stop.
Time to go.
Carly went outside with a bunch of shopping bags in her arms and stopped. Carly’s jaw dropped so low that it almost reached the floor. The bags dropped all over the room.
I suppose I saw a bra with polka dots roll across the yard. Good.
“What the heck?” Birds flew off the roofs as she cried so loudly. “Is that a parachute?” “Was the circus in town?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I cried as I watched her pull and smack the big panties. I felt completely helpless.
Finally, I left, trying hard not to show my face. “Hey, Carly!” Are those decorations new? They really change the look of the yard!
When she turned around, her face got red. “You! Did you do this? Are you trying to send signals to satellites? Is everything all right?
I shrugged. “I’m just putting the clothes away.” Isn’t it what we’re all doing? We thought we were establishing a trend that would catch on with everyone in the area.
She screamed, “This isn’t funny!” and waved at the garments. “This is… this is…”
“Time to learn?” What I said was correct. “Ben wanted to know how huge underpants worked. “Very informative.”
Carly opened her mouth and closed it again, but she couldn’t say anything. “Take it down,” she said last.
I tapped my chin. “Oh no.” I like it a little bit. It definitely makes the street brighter. It could raise the value of the property.
For a moment, I was frightened that she could pass out. After that, she gave up and fell. “Okay,” she said with a pout. “You win.” I will move my clothes. Get that thing off. “My eyes hurt.”
I laughed and put out my hand. “Okay.” But I have to say that flamingo is absolutely your color.
We shook hands and I replied, “Oh, and welcome to the neighborhood.” We all have our quirks; some of us just show them in different ways.
After that, Ben couldn’t see Carly’s laundry from his window. I didn’t have to answer any more awkward questions because she never brought it up again.
How about me? I now have a great set of flamingo curtains. You probably don’t want to buy goods you don’t need, right?
What about Ben? At first, he was unhappy that he couldn’t use his “underwear slingshot” idea anymore, but I told him that good heroes usually keep their underwear hidden. What if he ever saw huge flamingo underwear in the sky? That just meant that Mom was out there, making every situation better with her funny sense of humor.