My new neighbor Lisa turned laundry day into a spectacle when her rainbow of underwear—lacy, hot pink, and stringy—started
flapping outside my 8-year-old son Jake’s window. Jake, ever inquisitive, asked if her thongs were slingshots or superhero gear,
even suggesting his Captain America boxers join her “crime-fighting” display,
I tried to laugh it off, but when his questions persisted, I knew her “panty parade” had to end. I approached Lisa diplomatically,
but she dismissed me with a laugh, suggesting I “loosen up.” Determined, I crafted a massive pair of flamingo-patterned granny
panties and hung them outside her window as a petty prank. She was livid, struggling to pull them down, and finally relented,
moving her laundry out of sight. Peace returned to suburbia, and I repurposed the fabric into curtains—a daily reminder of my
victory in the great laundry war.
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