I never thought laundry could start a war—until my neighbor Melissa decided to make it personal. For 35 years, I’d hung my clothes outside without issue. But the moment I pinned up my first load after she moved in, her grill roared to life, filling my clean sheets with smoke.
At first, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she just loved barbecuing. But when it happened every single time—Tuesdays, Fridays, even rainy afternoons—I knew it was intentional.
“Good morning, Diane!” she’d chirp, flipping burgers as my laundry flapped helplessly in the smoke. “Isn’t it a great day for grilling?”
I tried talking to her. “Melissa, do you really need to grill bacon at 10 a.m.?”
She just smiled sweetly. “I’m just enjoying my property. Isn’t that what neighbors do?”
My friend Eleanor watched from her garden, shaking her head. “She’s doing this to spite you.”
I refused to let her push me around. Instead of giving up my clothesline, I fought back—with rainbows.
My daughter donated her brightest towels and shirts, and I waited for the perfect moment: Melissa’s weekly “Instagram-worthy” brunch. As her perfectly dressed friends posed for photos, I strung up neon beach towels, a hot pink robe, and SpongeBob bedsheets right in their backdrop.
“Diane!” Melissa hissed. “You’re ruining the aesthetic!”
“Funny,” I said, pinning up a tie-dye shirt, “I thought the same thing about your smoke.”
Her brunches moved indoors after that. And the grill? It hasn’t been used in weeks.
Sometimes, the quietest rebellions are the most satisfying. All it took was a clothespin and a little creativity.
