For weeks, my neighbor’s underwear was practically on display 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 unintended “fashion show” and teach my neighbor a proper lesson in laundry etiquette.

Ah, suburbia! Where life is supposed to be peaceful, and everyone’s lawns are greener — mainly because your neighbor’s sprinkler system is better than yours. I, Kristie, had planted roots here with my husband Thompson and our son Jake. Life was running smoothly until Lisa moved in next door, and that’s when things took a turn for the weird.

It all started one Tuesday. I remember because 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 breeze, right outside his window, was a pair of hot pink, lacy panties. And they weren’t alone. There was a whole colorful assortment of undies, hanging right there for the world — or at least my son — to see.

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

Jake, ever curious, popped up behind me and asked, “Mom, why does Mrs. Lisa hang her underwear outside?”

My face flushed. “Uh, sweetie, Mrs. Lisa just really likes fresh air for her clothes. Why don’t we close these curtains and, um, give her laundry some privacy?”

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

I barely held in my laugh. “Honey, your underwear prefers to stay inside where it’s cozy.”

From that day on, Lisa’s underwear became a regular sight outside Jake’s window. Every day, a new set of delicates would make their debut, and every day, I had to shield Jake’s eyes from her “fashion show.” I tried to let it go, but things came to a head one afternoon.

Jake came bounding into the kitchen with a look that always signaled trouble. “Mom,” he asked seriously, “why does Mrs. Lisa have so many colors of underwear? And why are some of them so small? Are they for her pet hamster?”

I almost dropped the peanut butter knife. “Well,” I stammered, “everyone has different preferences for their clothes, even the ones we don’t usually see.”

Jake nodded thoughtfully. “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?”

That was the last straw. It was time to have a little chat with Lisa.

The next day, I marched over to Lisa’s house with a polite but firm intention. She answered the door with a smile, looking like she had just stepped out of a hair commercial. I got straight to the point. “Hi, Lisa. I wanted to talk to you about your laundry.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What about it? Is it too fashion-forward for the neighborhood?”

“Well,” I said, trying to stay calm, “it’s just that it’s right outside my son’s window, and, well, it’s a bit much. Jake’s starting to ask some questions—yesterday, he asked if your thongs were slingshots.”

Lisa laughed. “Oh honey, they’re just clothes! It’s not like I’m hanging up nuclear codes.”

That response only made me more determined. “I understand,” I said, “but Jake is only eight, and he’s curious. This morning, he wanted to hang his superhero underwear right next to yours.”

Lisa just shrugged. “So? He’s learning about the world. Consider it a teaching moment.”

That’s when I knew I had to take matters into my own hands. That night, I made the world’s largest pair of granny panties out of the brightest flamingo-pink fabric I could find. They were big enough to be seen from space — and just ridiculous enough to make my point.

The next day, while Lisa was out, I hung those massive granny panties right in front of her living room window. When she came home, her jaw dropped, and she looked furious.

“What the hell?” she shouted. “Are you trying to signal planes?”

I casually strolled outside. “Just hanging some laundry. Isn’t that what neighbors do?”

Lisa fumed but eventually agreed to move her laundry line. Victory was mine.

From that day on, Lisa’s undies stayed far away from Jake’s window. And as for me? I now have a very unique set of curtains made from flamingo fabric. Waste not, want not, right?