Olive finally got a good job right when her son, Chris, left for college. She was so happy to be able to help him with everything he needed. As Chris stood at the train station, about to leave for New York, Olive reassured him, “Chris, don’t worry about anything. I’ll pay for as much as I can. If you need anything, just call me.”
For most of Chris’s life, Olive had struggled to make ends meet. She raised him on her own and studied at night to improve their situation. While Chris always had food and a roof over his head, Olive could never afford the things other kids had. His gifts were often second-hand, and Olive felt guilty for not being able to give him more.
Despite this, she loved him deeply and worked hard to ensure he had the best future possible. Seven years passed, and they only talked through video calls, but one day, Chris returned home and was shocked by what had happened.
Olive was finally earning a decent salary and felt proud she could give Chris anything he needed. “Thank you, Mom,” Chris said, hugging her tightly before getting on the train to New York.
Years passed, and one day, Chris decided to visit his mom. He knocked on the door of his childhood home, but there was no answer. Confused, he peeked through the window—and couldn’t believe what he saw. The house was completely empty.
***
“Mrs. Franklin, you should come to visit! I’m so huge now!” Chris’s fiancée, Rosalie, said cheerfully during a video call, showing off her baby bump. Olive smiled through the screen, but something weighed heavily on her mind.
“Mom, I wanted to ask you something,” Chris began, scratching the back of his head nervously. “Since Rosalie and I are about to graduate and we’re having a baby, I was wondering if you could help us with a house. We’ve already found one in New Jersey. We can’t afford to live in the city, but it’s beautiful, and it reminds me of home.”
Olive stared at her son, deep in thought. “Well, I… don’t know,” she hesitated, thinking about her savings and the hard work she’d put in over the years. She was finally planning for her retirement.
“Please, Mom,” Chris pleaded, explaining the cost of the house and how much they needed for a down payment. He also mentioned that Rosalie didn’t have any family to help them out.
After a long pause, Olive sighed. “Ok, Chris, ok. I think we can work something out.” She knew it would mean using up her entire savings and living even more frugally, but it was possible.
Chris’s face lit up. “Thank you! Thank you, Mom! I don’t know what I’d do without you!” he said, nearly in tears. Olive smiled back, knowing that all her sacrifices were worth it.
***
“I wish you guys could come this Christmas,” Olive said in front of her computer, as she had done many times over the years. It had been seven years since Chris left home, and he hadn’t returned to their Maryland hometown. All their communication was through video calls. Olive was missing out on her granddaughter’s life, and it hurt her deeply. But everyone was always busy, and she felt lonelier with each passing year.
Olive was working harder than ever, still helping Chris financially. She had already depleted her savings once, and now, after helping him start a business, they were almost gone again. Olive never asked Chris for anything in return, but she wished they would at least visit her, as she couldn’t make the trip herself.
“We can’t, Mom. Not this year,” Chris said, shaking his head apologetically during another video call. “But thank you for the gifts you sent Mallory. She loves them. You’re an amazing grandma.”
“Can you put her on the screen?” Olive asked gently. She smiled as she watched her granddaughter, but the longing to hold her was overwhelming.
***
What Olive didn’t know was that Chris was finally planning a surprise visit. He couldn’t afford plane tickets for Rosalie and Mallory to come with him, but he was excited to see his mother after so many years.
However, when his taxi pulled up in front of the house, Chris frowned. It was 9 p.m., and the house was completely dark. He told the driver to wait for a moment and stepped out. Something was off. The porch furniture was gone, the plants his mother had always cared for were missing, the garden was overgrown, and even the welcome mat was no longer there. His heart sank as he walked toward the door.
Chris knocked on the door again, but there was still no response. He peeked through the window and was shocked—everything inside was gone. *Did Mom move? Why didn’t she tell me?* he thought, feeling a knot of concern form in his chest.
“Chris? Is that you?” a familiar voice called out.
He turned around to see Mrs. Torres, the elderly woman who had lived next door his entire life. “Mrs. Torres! Hi!” he greeted.
“What are you doing here, kid?” she asked, surprised.
“I’m here to see Mom. Do you know where she is?” Chris asked, frowning, feeling more confused by the second.
“Oh, dear. Your mother moved away about two years ago. She sold the house, but the new owners only moved out a few weeks ago. I’m not sure who’s moving in next,” Mrs. Torres said, her face scrunching up as she spoke.
“She never told me,” Chris muttered in disbelief. “Do you know where she went?”
“Yes, I have her new address somewhere. Come inside,” Mrs. Torres replied, leading him to her house. After a few minutes, she handed Chris a piece of paper with the address written on it.
Chris read it and frowned deeply. The address was in a part of town known for being run-down. “Do you know why she moved to that area?” he asked Mrs. Torres, feeling uneasy.
“No, honey. But I know she has a roommate now,” Mrs. Torres said with a shrug, leaving Chris even more puzzled.
Feeling anxious, Chris returned to the taxi and gave the driver the new address. The car pulled up to a shabby apartment complex on a poorly lit street. The building’s paint was peeling, and it looked neglected. Chris hurried inside, noticing there was no security as he easily made his way up to the apartment.
When Olive opened the door, her eyes widened in shock. “Chris? What are you doing here?”
“Mom! What is going on? Why did you sell the house?” Chris asked, bewildered and upset.
Olive sighed heavily and stepped aside, inviting her son into the small, cramped living room. Once they sat down, she began to explain.
“The first time you asked for money for the house, I still had some savings left, so I used them to help you and Rosalie. But when you asked for money for your business, I didn’t have anything saved up. So, I decided to sell the house and give you most of the profit,” Olive said, her voice calm but tinged with sadness.
Chris was stunned. He had no idea. The realization that his mother had sold her home to help him was like a punch to the gut. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me? I never would’ve taken that money if I had known. I feel terrible… I’ve been so careless,” he said, his voice breaking with guilt.
“But, sweetheart, I just wanted you to succeed,” Olive explained softly. “I couldn’t give you much when you were younger, and I wanted to make up for it. I didn’t want you to struggle…”
Chris shook his head, his heart heavy. “Mom, you didn’t fail me. You gave me everything that mattered. I wish I had seen that sooner,” he said, his voice filled with regret.
“Mom, you gave me everything I ever needed,” Chris said, his voice shaking with emotion. “I only asked for help because I thought you could afford it. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for not checking on you, for not visiting, and for letting you live here, with a roommate, at your age. I’m so sorry.” Tears of frustration streamed down his face.
Olive, with tears in her eyes, hugged her son tightly. They held each other, both overwhelmed with emotion. Chris made many promises that night, vowing never to let her struggle again. Later, he called Rosalie and explained everything. Together, they agreed it was time to move Olive closer to them.
Fortunately, Olive found a new job in New Jersey quickly, and within a few months, they had built an in-law suite for her. Olive was finally close to her family and could enjoy every moment with her granddaughter, Mallory.
Chris worked hard and repaid his mother every penny she had given him for the house and his business, which had become a huge success. Their family was comfortable, and most importantly, Chris never let his mother sacrifice for him again. Olive never missed another precious moment of her granddaughter’s life, and Chris made sure that she would always be taken care of from then on.
My neighbor kept hanging out her panties in front of my son’s window, so I taught her a real lesson
For weeks, my neighbor’s underpants stole the spotlight outside my 8-year-old son’s window. When he naively questioned if her thongs were slingshots, I decided it was time to put an end to this panty parade and teach her a valuable lesson in laundry etiquette.
Ah, suburbia! The grass is usually greener on the other side, mostly because your neighbor’s sprinkler system is superior to yours. That’s where I, Thompson’s wife Kristie, opted to establish roots with my 8-year-old son Jake. Life was as smooth as a freshly botoxed forehead until Lisa, our new neighbor, came in next door.
It began on Tuesday. I remember because it was wash day, and I was folding a mountain of tiny superhero underwear, courtesy of Jake’s recent obsession.
Looking out his bedroom window, I almost choked on my coffee. A pair of hot pink, lace underwear flew in the breeze like the world’s most indecent flag.
And they were not alone. Oh no, they were not alone — a full rainbow of underpants was dancing in the breeze in front of my son’s window.
“Holy guacamole,” I muttered, dropping a pair of Batman briefs. “Is this a laundry line or Victoria’s Secret runway?”
Jake’s voice piped up behind me, “Mom, why does Mrs. Lisa have her underwear outside?”
My face burned hotter than my malfunctioning dryer. “Uh, sweetie. Mrs. Lisa just… really likes fresh air. Why don’t we close these curtains, huh? Give the laundry some privacy.”
“But Mom,” Jake persisted, his eyes wide with innocent curiosity, “if Mrs. Lisa’s underwear likes fresh air, shouldn’t mine go outside too? Maybe my Hulk undies could make friends with her pink ones!”
I held back a laugh that threatened to blossom into a wild sob. “Honey, your underwear is… shy. It prefers to stay inside where it’s cozy.”
As I ushered Jake out, I couldn’t resist thinking, “Welcome to the neighborhood, Kristie. Hope you brought your sense of humor and a sturdy pair of curtains.”
Days stretched into weeks, and Lisa’s laundry service became as routine as my daily coffee, and as welcoming as a cold cup of coffee with a splash of curdled milk.
Every day, a new set of panties appeared outside my son’s window, and I found myself playing the awkward game of “shield the child’s eyes.”
One afternoon, while I was cooking a snack in the kitchen, Jake burst in, his face etched with bewilderment and eagerness, making my mom-sense prickle with fear.
“Mom,” he started, in that tone that always preceded a question I wasn’t prepared for, “why does Mrs. Lisa have so many different colored underwear? And why are some of them so small? With strings? Are they for her pet hamster?”
I almost dropped the knife I was using to spread peanut butter, picturing Lisa’s response at being told her delicates were rodent-sized.
“Well, honey,” I stammered, buying time, “everyone has different preferences for their clothes. Even the ones we don’t usually see.”
Jake nodded sagely as if I’d imparted some great wisdom. “So, it’s like how I like my superhero underwear, but grown-up? Does Mrs. Lisa fight crime at night? Is that why her underwear is so small? For aerodynamics?”
I choked on air, caught between laughter and horror. “Uh, not exactly, sweetie. Mrs. Lisa isn’t a superhero. She’s just very confident.”
“Oh,” Jake replied, little disappointed. Then his face brightened up again.
“But Mom, if Mrs. Lisa can hang her underwear outside, can I hang mine too? I bet my Captain America boxers would look super cool flapping in the wind!”
“Sorry, buddy,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Your underwear is special. It needs to stay hidden to, uh, protect your secret identity.”
As Jake nodded and munched on his lunch, I looked out the window at Lisa’s colorful underwear display.
This could not continue on. It was time to talk with our exhibitionist neighbor. ?.
The following day, I marched over to Lisa’s place.
I rang the doorbell, flashing my best “concerned neighbor” smile, the same one I use to assure the HOA that “no, my garden gnomes are not offensive, they’re whimsical.”
Lisa responded, appearing as if she had just come out of a shampoo advertisement.
“Oh, hi there! Kristie, right?” she frowned.
“That’s right! Listen, Lisa, I hoped we could chat about something.”
She leaned against the doorframe, eyebrow raised. “Oh? What’s on your mind? Need to borrow a cup of sugar? Or maybe a cup of confidence?” She glanced pointedly at my mom jeans and oversized t-shirt.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself that jail orange is not my color. “It’s about your laundry. Specifically, where you hang it.”
Lisa’s flawlessly groomed brows furrowed. “My laundry? What about it? Is it too fashion-forward for the neighborhood?”
“Well, it’s just that it’s right in front of my son’s window. The, um, underwear especially. It’s a bit exposing. Jake’s starting to ask questions. Yesterday, he asked if your thongs were slingshots.”
“Oh, honey. They’re just clothes! It’s not like I’m hanging up nuclear launch codes. Although, between you and me, my leopard print bikini bottoms are pretty explosive!”
I felt my eye twitch. “I understand, but Jake is only eight. He’s curious. This morning, he asked if he could hang his Superman undies next to your, uh, ‘crime-fighting gear’.”
“Well, then, sounds like a perfect opportunity for some education. You’re welcome! I’m practically running a public service here. And why should I care about your son? It’s my yard. Toughen up!”
“Excuse me?”
Lisa waved her hand dismissively. “Listen, if you’re that bothered by a few pairs of panties, maybe you need to loosen up. It’s my yard, my rules. Deal with it. Or better yet, buy some cuter underwear. I could give you some tips if you’d like.”
And with that, she slammed the door in my face, leaving me standing there with my mouth open, likely gathering flies.
I was stunned. “Oh, it is ON,” I muttered, turning on my heel. “You want to play dirty laundry? Game on, Lisa. Game. On.” ?
That night, I sat at my sewing machine.
Yards of the most gaudy, eye-searing cloth I could locate sat before me. It was the type of cloth that could be seen from space and perhaps even attract alien life forms!
“You think your little lacy numbers are something to see, Lisa?” I muttered, feeding the fabric through the machine. “Wait till you get a load of this. E.T. will phone home about these babies.”
After hours, I finished creating the world’s largest and most irritating pair of granny panties. ?
They were large enough to serve as a parachute, loud enough to be heard from space, and just insignificant enough to prove my argument.
If Lisa’s underwear was a whisper, mine was a fabric-covered foghorn.
That afternoon, as soon as I saw Lisa’s car leave her driveway, I sprung into action.
With my improvised clothesline and gigantic flamingo underpants ready, I dashed across our lawns, ducking between plants and lawn ornaments.
With the coast clear, I hung my handiwork just in front of Lisa’s living room window. Stepping back to examine my work, I couldn’t help but smile.
The enormous flamingo undies fluttered gloriously in the afternoon air. They were so enormous that a family of four could certainly use them as a tent while camping.
“Take that, Lisa,” I whispered, scurrying back home. “Let’s see how you like a taste of your own medicine. Hope you brought your sunglasses, because it’s about to get BRIGHT in the neighborhood.”
Back at home, I took up a position beside the window. I felt like a kid waiting for Santa, but instead of gifts, I was waiting for Lisa to uncover my small surprise.
The minutes passed like hours.
Just as I was wondering if Lisa had chosen to turn her errands into a surprise holiday, I heard the familiar sound of her car approaching the driveway.
It’s show time.
Lisa stepped outside, arms full of shopping bags, and froze. Her mouth dropped so quickly, I thought it could detach. The bags slid from her fingers, scattering their contents across the driveway.
I swear I spotted a pair of polka-dot panties rolling across the yard. Lisa, you are so classy.
“WHAT THE HELL…??” she screeched, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. “Is that a parachute? Did the circus come to town?”
I burst into laughter. Tears flowed down my cheeks as I watched Lisa dash up to the enormous undies and grab at them futilely. It was like witnessing a chihuahua attempt to take down a Great Dane.
Composing myself, I strolled outside. “Oh, hi Lisa! Doing some redecorating? I love what you’ve done with the place. Very avant-garde.”
She whirled on me, face as pink as the undies of my creation. “You! You did this! What is wrong with you? Are you trying to signal aircraft?”
I shrugged. “Just hanging out some laundry. Isn’t that what neighbors do? I thought we were starting a trend.”
“This isn’t laundry!” Lisa shrieked, gesturing wildly at the undies. “This is… this is…”
“A learning opportunity?” I suggested sweetly. “You know, for the neighborhood kids. Jake was very curious about the aerodynamics of underwear. I thought a practical demonstration might help.”
Lisa’s mouth expanded and closed, like a fish out of water. Finally, she sputtered, “Take. It. Down.”
I tapped my chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, I don’t know. I kind of like the breeze it’s getting. Really airs things out, you know? Plus, I think it’s bringing the property values up. Nothing says ‘classy neighborhood’ like giant novelty underwear.”
For a moment, I thought Lisa might spontaneously combust. Then, to my surprise, her shoulders sagged. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “You win. I’ll move my laundry. Just… please, take this monstrosity down. My retinas are burning.”
I chuckled, extending my hand. “Deal. But I have to say, I think flamingos are your color.”
As we shook on it, I couldn’t help but add, “By the way, Lisa? Welcome to the neighborhood. We’re all a little crazy here. Some of us just hide it better than others.”
Lisa’s laundry has been missing from the clothesline in front of Jake’s window since that day. She never addressed it again, and I never had to cope with her “life lessons” either.
And me? Let’s just say I now have a really unusual set of curtains made of flamingo fabric. Don’t waste, don’t want, right?
Jake was slightly bummed that the “underwear slingshots” were no longer available. But I informed him that sometimes being a superhero entails keeping your undergarments a secret. What if he ever sees huge flamingo undies flying through the sky? Mom is protecting the neighborhood with outrageous pranks! ?
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