side, mainly because your neighbor’s sprinkler system is better than yours. That’s where I, Kristie, wife of Thompson, decided to plant my roots with my 8-year-old son, Jake. Life was as smooth as a freshly botoxed forehead until our new neighbor, Lisa, moved in next door.
It started on a Tuesday. I remember because it was laundry day, and I was folding a mountain of tiny superhero underwear, courtesy of Jake’s latest obsession.
Glancing out his bedroom window, I nearly choked on my coffee. There, flapping in the breeze like the world’s most inappropriate flag, was a pair of hot pink, lacy panties.
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