“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!
?
