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She Hung Her Lingerie Outside My Son’s Window—So I Taught Her a Lesson She’ll Never Forget

For weeks, I tried to ignore the parade of lacy, neon underwear my neighbor Lisa proudly hung right outside my 8-year-old son’s window. I fielded Jake’s questions about slingshots, crime-fighting gear, and whether our neighborhood had its own superhero. I smiled. I redirected. I explained. But the daily “lingerie runway” didn’t stop. And when Lisa slammed the door in my face after mocking both my concerns and my mom jeans, something inside me snapped. By week three, I’d had enough. I marched over to Lisa’s door, armed with polite resolve and PTA-level diplomacy, ready to say something I’d been holding in for far too long…

When I moved into our cheerful little cul-de-sac with my son Jake, I pictured block parties, friendly waves, and maybe the occasional casserole exchange. What I didn’t expect? A daily peep show of lace and Lycra flapping proudly outside Jake’s window.

It started innocently enough. One Tuesday—laundry day—I was folding Jake’s superhero briefs when I glanced out his room and nearly snorted coffee through my nose. There they were: Lisa’s hot pink thong undulating in the breeze like a flag claiming suburban dominance.

Jake, bless his innocent heart, asked, “Mom, is that a slingshot?”