Kind Lаdy Sаvеs а Ваby Dееr Slеерing Undеr а Тirе Вy Lеаving Nоtе

In our region of the United States, it is wise to regularly inspect the area around and beneath your car to ensure that wildlife hasn’t made it into a home. When a good-hearted woman saw a baby deer dozing beneath someone else’s automobile tire, she made the decision to intervene.

A woman wanted to make sure the car’s driver was aware that a baby deer was sleeping beneath a tire, so she shаrеd this Facebook post, which quickly gained popularity.

The responses were heartfelt and occasionally humorous. Joshua Kevin Nye’s comment is the most well-likеd one thus far:

You know it was an elderly woman, but how? Why, if you saw her, didn’t she just write a message instead of telling you there was a blasted deer under the tire? I’m looking for clarification!

Another comedian expressed their hope that the motorist was literate. I suppose you can’t always get that conclusion from the way some people drive.

Cyntha Atkinson was among the kinder individuals who valued this woman’s action:

hank you for leaving the note, kind woman.

Thank you, Cyntha. One has to admire the heart of those who, rather than choosing to carry on with their lives as usual, choose to make a difference.

Would you have continued living your life, left a note, or attempted to get the deer to come out from under the car?

My Neighbor Kept Hanging out Her Panties Right in Front of My Son’s Window, So I Taught Her a Real Lesson

My neighbor’s undergarments became the unlikely stars of a suburban show, taking center stage right outside my 8-year-old son’s window. When Jake innocently asked if her thongs were some kind of slingshots, I knew the “panty parade” had to stop, and it was time for a lesson in laundry discretion.
Ah, suburbia—where the lawns are pristine, the air smells of fresh-cut grass, and life rolls along smoothly until someone comes along to shake things up. That’s when Lisa, our new neighbor, arrived. Life had been relatively peaceful until laundry day revealed something I wasn’t prepared for: a rainbow of her underwear flapping outside Jake’s window like flags at a questionable parade.One afternoon, I was folding Jake’s superhero underwear when I glanced out the window and almost choked on my coffee. There they were: hot pink, lacy, and very much on display. My son, ever curious, peered over my shoulder and asked the dreaded question, “Mom, why does Mrs. Lisa have her underwear outside? And why do some of them have strings? Are they for her pet hamster?”
Between stifled laughter and mortified disbelief, I did my best to explain. But Jake’s imagination was running wild, wondering if Mrs. Lisa was secretly a superhero,with underwear designed for aerodynamics. He even wanted to join in, suggesting his Captain America boxers could hang next to her “crime-fighting gear.” It became a daily routine—Lisa’s laundry would wave in the breeze, and Jake’s curiosity would stir. But when he asked if he could hang his own underwear next to hers, I knew it was time to put an end to this spectacle. So, I marched over to her house, ready to resolve the situation diplomatically. Lisa answered the door, and before I could say much, she made it clear she wasn’t about to change her laundry habits for anyone. She laughed off my concerns, suggesting I “loosen up” and even offered me advice on spicing up my own wardrobe. Frustrated but determined, I came up with a plan—a brilliantly petty one. That evening, I created the world’s largest, most garish pair of granny panties out of the brightest fabric I could find. The next day, when Lisa left, I hung my masterpiece right in front of her window. When she returned, the sight of the massive flamingo-patterned undergarments nearly knocked her off her feet. Watching her fume while trying to yank down my prank was worth every stitch. She eventually caved, agreeing to move her laundry somewhere less visible—while I quietly relished my victory. From then on, Lisa’s laundry vanished from our shared view, and peace was restored. As for me? I ended up with a pair of flamingo-themed curtains, a daily reminder of the day I won the great laundry war of suburbia.

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