My neighbor’s undies stole the spotlight right outside my 8-year-old son’s window for weeks. When he innocently asked if her thongs were slingshots, I knew it was time to end this panty parade and teach her a serious lesson in laundry etiquette.

Ah, suburbia! Where the grass always looks greener on the other side, usually because your neighbor has a fancier sprinkler system. That’s where I, Emily, wife of Mark, decided to put down roots with my 8-year-old son, Ben. Life was as smooth as a new jar of peanut butter until our new neighbor, Carly, moved in next door.

It all started on a Tuesday. Continues…