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! ?

This Is How I Won a Prank War My Neighbor and I Had Going for the past Year

his Is How I Won a Prank War My Neighbor and I Had Going for the past Year

It started off innocently enough. Selene parked her car in the wrong parking spot, fueling a prank war with Paul, the real owner of the parking spot. As the months went by, the pair continued their prank war, but Selen started to wonder about the future of these seemingly innocent practical jokes. She took matters into her own hands and asked Paul out for dinner, under the guise of someone else. Will it be the ultimate prank or something more?

It all began with a parking mishap. It was just one innocent mistake that spiraled into a year-long prank war with my neighbor, Paul.

An apartment building parking lot | Source: Unsplash

One evening, I accidentally parked in Paul’s parking spot in our apartment building’s lot. It was late, I was exhausted, and I just wanted to crawl into bed.

I didn’t think much of it until the next morning when I was on my way to the office. There, on my car, on an empty takeaway cup, a note was scrawled in messy handwriting.

A woman sleeping in bed | Source: Pexels

Thanks for ruining my day.

“Oh, crap,” I said to myself when I sat in the car. I needed to make amends.

A woman sitting in a car | Source: Pexels

The following morning, I left a warm cup of coffee on Paul’s car roof with a note that read:

Sorry for the mix-up. I hope this makes up for it.

A person holding a cup of coffee | Source: Pexels

If you’re wondering, Paul and I didn’t know each other. We just lived in the same apartment block and knew everyone’s names and door numbers.

A few days later, I found a bill from a car-washing service under my windshield wiper. It seemed that Paul didn’t notice the coffee that I left and spilled it all over his car when he drove off.

A car in a car wash | Source: Pexels

I refused to pay the bill, and thus, the little war began.

“I think that you and this mysterious Paul are either going to fall in love or end up despising each other,” my friend Daphne said at work.

A smiling woman holding a folder | Source: Pexels

“Probably the latter,” I said. “It was all fine until he gave me a bill.”

“Selene,” she said knowingly, “I’m telling you, this is just the beginning.”

The next day, I left my work phone number on his car.

Call me regarding the payment.

A piece of paper on a car | Source: Midjourney

Paul called me later that evening.

“Really? You thought that leaving coffee on the roof of a car was a good idea?” he asked, going straight into it.

“How was I supposed to know that you’d drive off without looking? Besides, it was a peace offering!”

A man using a phone | Source: Unsplash

“More like a disaster,” he said. “It was all over my window. Pay the car wash bill, please.”

“I’m not paying for it,” I said, hanging up.

After that, the pranks escalated quickly.

Spilled coffee in the air | Source: Pexels

“I told you,” Daphne said when she came home with me one evening. “It’s going to get more intense. You need to listen to me. Trust me on this, you and this guy are going to get under each other’s skin.”

“I don’t know about that, Daph,” I said, dishing out the curry we had bought for dinner.

Bowls of curry and rice | Source: Unsplash

“But you’re having fun?” she asked, tearing into a piece of bread.

“I am!” I said. “Mainly because it’s nothing serious.”

Flatbread on a board | Source: Pexels

One day, I found my car doors wrapped in plastic wrap.

The next week, I retaliated by covering Paul’s car in sticky notes, each one asking him to fix his parking.

A person tearing through plastic wrap | Source: Pexels

“If it rains tonight,” Paul said, immediately calling me after seeing the sticky notes, “you’ll have a mushy mess of paper to clean up.”

“I think you’ll figure it out for yourself,” I said, hiding behind my curtain.

A car covered in sticky notes | Source: Midjourney

I had to admit, I was attracted to him. I didn’t know if Paul knew who I was, but it was easier for me to watch him from my apartment. I had gotten used to watching him wash his car.

It turned out that it was comforting. There was a sense of intimacy that we had built up.

A person hiding behind blinds | Source: Unsplash

After months of back-and-forth pranks, ranging from balloons tied onto car handles and window wipers, to fake parking tickets, I decided that it was time to end the war.

“But you need a grand finale,” Daphne said as we sat in our office, trying to work through month-end reports.

A woman using a laptop | Source: Pexels

“Like what?” I asked, typing away at my keyboard.

“You’re into him, right?” she asked, sipping her coffee.

“I think so,” I said. “But I don’t know much about him.”

A woman drinking coffee | Source: Pexels

“Then get to know him,” my friend pressed on. “There’s something there; if not, this would have ended a long time ago.”

“Fine,” I said. “But you write the note. He knows my handwriting now.”

We intended to write a note from a secret admirer.

A person writing a note | Source: Pexels

“She can just be someone from your apartment,” Daphne said. “And it’s not like you and Paul have even interacted in person, Selene. To be honest, I don’t know how you’ve managed to stay anonymous for so long.”

“It’s the thrill of it,” I said.

A smiling woman | Source: Unsplash

Early the next morning, I left the note that Daphne had written on Paul’s car.

Hey, I saw you leaving your car and couldn’t help but notice how handsome you are. Let’s have dinner?

I added my personal number that he wouldn’t recognize at the bottom.

A folded piece of paper | Source: Midjourney

To my surprise, Paul called me later that morning.

“Selene, you’ll never guess what happened!” he said excitedly. “Some woman left me a note on my car.”

“Really?” I asked, feigning surprise. “What did it say?”

A woman on the phone | Source: Pexels

“She said that I was handsome and she wanted to have dinner. She left her number, too. So, I’m going to text her and go.”

Paul took the bait and texted me. We set up a date, and I, still pretending to be someone else, agreed to meet him at a local restaurant.

A table at a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

I was already seated, suddenly nervous. We had been at this for so long; what if everything blew up in my face?

What if I was living in a romantic comedy and Paul actually couldn’t stand me?

Almost ready to leave, Paul walked into the restaurant.

A man in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

“Hey, you’re here! You look familiar,” he said. “But I suppose I have seen you around the building.”

He spoke quickly, as though he was just as nervous.

“I’m sure that’s exactly it,” I said, smiling.

A smiling man | Source: Pexels

“Your voice reminds me of my neighbor, Selene. I’m sure you’ve seen us pranking each other recently,” he chuckled, his eyes glazing over as if lost in a memory.

“What’s that been like?” I asked.

A smiling woman at a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

“Well, Daphne,” he said, as I had introduced myself over text, “it’s been hilarious. It’s been the best few months of my life.”

“It sounds like she’s grown on you,” I said, smiling.

“She’s feisty, all right,” he said, ordering himself a whiskey.

A man holding a glass of whiskey | Source: Pexels

The rest of the evening went by smoothly, but the more Paul spoke, the more I found myself genuinely enjoying his company. He was charming, funny, and surprisingly sweet.

By the time our meals arrived, I couldn’t keep the truth from him any longer.

Plates of food at a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

“Paul,” I said, picking up my cocktail, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What’s that?” he asked, looking me in the eye.

“I haven’t been very honest about this date,” I said slowly. “I’m Selene.”

A cocktail on a table | Source: Pexels

Paul’s jaw dropped.

“Wait, really?” he asked. “Why did you want to meet like this?”

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “Call it insecurity? Daphne is my best friend; I asked her to write the note, and I used her name. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have deceived you.”

A shocked man | Source: Pexels

“No, no,” he said, a large smile forming on his face. “I’ve never had this much fun with anyone. I’m glad we got to meet. Finally.”

The rest of the evening went much smoother, knowing that we had something in common. It was something to bond over. And more than that, there was chemistry between us. It wasn’t just me.

“I’m glad we did this,” Paul said as we went our separate ways in the parking lot. “It needed to happen.”