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! ?
Sarah Jessica Parker Claps Back at Haters Criticizing Her Gorgeous Gray Hair
Sarah Jessica Parker is known for playing the fashionable character Carrie Bradshaw in the HBO show “Sex and the City.” However, the “Footloose” star often faces criticism for her real-life fashion choices.
Sarah Jessica Parker is famous for playing the stylish Carrie Bradshaw on the HBO show “Sex and the City.” During her time on the show, she became a fashion icon, inspiring women all over the world with her glamorous looks.
Many women looked up to her as a trendsetter, using fashion to express themselves and their feelings. However, in real life, Parker has never been as passionate about fashion. In a 2012 interview with People, she said that she doesn’t relate to her character’s fashion sense. She explained:
“It’s not how I think of myself, and I think it’s probably the healthier approach.”
Parker likes nice clothes and beautiful things, but you won’t catch her in a tutu at the grocery store. She believes that fashion takes a backseat to life, especially since she has three kids. She stated:
“It’s just not a reality — not when you have three kids, and you go to the market, and there are hungry people at home. You have a limited time to do it. There’s just no time to let vanity enter into that.”
People have often noticed her style choices. In an interview with Vogue, she mentioned that she finds it funny when people criticize her looks.
Over the years, she has faced backlash for her fashion choices, including a much-discussed outfit at the Met Gala. Parker said that people borrow styles that resonate with them at different times, but some will always dislike them. She doesn’t understand why people criticize her choices. “So, what’s the point of the criticism?” she asked.
Parker has learned to ignore her critics. For her everyday outfits, she chooses what she likes without worrying too much about whether it matches.
“Unsexiest Woman Alive”
Parker also faced tough times when Maxim magazine named her “Unsexiest Woman Alive” because she doesn’t fit certain beauty standards, like getting Botox or having fuller lips. She felt that this title was harsh and hurtful, affecting her and her husband, actor Matthew Broderick.
Things got worse when paparazzi took unflattering pictures of Parker having lunch with TV host Andy Cohen. She was makeup-free with her gray hair showing, leading to negative comments about her age. Cohen defended her, pointing out that he has gray hair too and called the comments “misogynistic.”
Parker did not stay quiet about the criticism. During an interview with Vogue, she spoke about how people seem to enjoy seeing others struggle with aging. She said:
“It almost feels as if people don’t want us to be perfectly OK with where we are, as if they almost enjoy us being pained by who we are today.”
She added, “I know what I look like. I have no choice. What am I going to do about it? Stop aging? Disappear?”
However, this was not the last of the harsh comments. In 2018, she faced ridicule again after wearing an ornate headpiece to the Met Gala. People mocked her looks online, calling her a senior citizen.
In June 2023, during a chat with Howard Stern, she discussed Hollywood’s obsession with cosmetic surgery and aging. When asked how she views herself, she said, “I’m presentable,” but added that she doesn’t enjoy looking in the mirror. She acknowledged that she thinks about cosmetic procedures but has never had plastic surgery, although she has tried skin treatments like peels.
Parker reflected on potentially getting a facelift at 44 but was uncertain about it. Stern expressed relief that she hadn’t gone through with it. She understands why some people choose procedures but knows that there is societal pressure about aging. She recalled the viral photo with Cohen, where people criticized her but ignored his gray hair.
Now in her late 50s, Parker remains unbothered by her critics and has clear thoughts on aging. She said in an August 2023 interview:
“I just don’t spend that much time [thinking about appearance]. It’s not that I don’t have an ego, that I don’t have a decent, healthy amount of vanity, but I just don’t want to spend that much time really deconstructing it all.”
Choosing Family over Fashion
Despite facing criticism over her fashion choices, Parker prioritizes her family. During New York Fashion Week in 2006, while others rushed to find the perfect outfits, she chose to stay home with her family. Her son James had just started school, and she wanted to be there for him.
Now, attending events is challenging since she has three kids. She and Broderick welcomed their first child, James Wilkie, on October 28, 2002, and he is now a student at Brown University. Their twins, Tabitha and Marion, were born on June 23, 2009, through a surrogate.
Though some fans criticize her, Broderick remains supportive. He often praises Parker’s beauty and feels lucky to be with her.
They married in a surprise ceremony on May 19, 1997, and have been happy ever since. Parker mentioned that their relationship thrives because they spend time apart and then come back together. She said on a podcast:
“I know this sounds nuts, but we have lives that allow us to be away and come back together.”
Broderick often shares how much he admires Parker, recalling their first date and how he remembers her clearly walking toward him.
Despite the negative comments and criticism, Parker feels secure in her relationship, partly due to Broderick’s constant support. He calls her “just a great, beautiful, hilarious person!”
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