I never thought I’d have to explain thongs to my eight-year-old son. But thanks to my neighbor Carly, that’s exactly what happened. Every day, her collection of skimpy underwear dangled right outside Ben’s window, turning our peaceful home into an awkward Q&A session.
“Mom, why does Mrs. Carly wear such tiny underwear?” he asked one day. “Is she cold?” I tried distracting him, but it was getting ridiculous. So, I went to Carly, hoping she’d be understanding.
She wasn’t. “It’s my yard,” she snapped. “If you don’t like it, close the curtains.”
Challenge accepted.
That night, I got creative. I sewed a pair of underwear so big they could’ve housed a small family—bright pink, covered in flamingos, and impossible to ignore. The next day, I hung them up right in front of her house.
When Carly came home, her face turned redder than my fabric. “WHAT IS THIS?” she screeched. I shrugged. “Just some fresh air for my delicates. You’re the one who said laundry belongs outside.”
She didn’t say another word. The next morning, her lingerie was gone. And Ben? He just thinks his mom is really good at making “big blankets.”
