Except for the years when we were stationed overseas, our military family has always taken a summer vacation at an old beach cottage in North Carolina. Through the years, it’s been a fun way for extended family and old friends to reunite with us, since we lived in so many different places. However, the “fun” sometimes felt like harassment.

“Whose are THESE?” I recall my sister-in-law saying with a laugh while holding up a large pair of underwear from a basket of warm laundry. Voices rang out from around the cottage.

“Whoa! Not mine!” came from the couch. “Me neither!” broadcasted from the staircase. “Mine aren’t THAT big!” emanated from the hallway.

“Uh, yeah,” I had to admit sheepishly, “Those are mine, thank you very much.” I claimed my stack of folded clothes and slinked off to my room.

But I can’t blame my sister-in-law for calling me out. Anytime family and friends vacation together, laundry is bound to get mixed. Someone typically announces they’re throwing in a load of hot whites, and a couple hours later, whoever decides to fold the dry clothes becomes privy to the size of everyone else’s underwear, setting up perfect opportunities to crack jokes.

Admittedly, my undies were ample enough to fold over several times, while my thinner relatives’ teensy-weensy skivvies were constructed with so little material, I once mistook a pair of my niece’s underwear for a hair scrunchie.

One year, I tried to combat the unavoidable ribbing by secretly planting a humongous E-cup bra and a massive pair of flowered briefs in the laundry, thinking that my tomfoolery might make me the joker rather than the butt of the joke. But when I found the planted garments neatly folded on my dresser, the realization that my relatives honestly believed that I wore underwear that big only served to further assault my battered ego.

Actually, when people vacation together, they don’t necessarily want to know intimate details about each other, much less the size of their undergarments. However, when you are packed into a summer beach cottage together, embarrassing personal secrets are inevitably revealed.

At the beginning of each vacation, we tried to maintain a facade of virtuousness, cleanliness and self-control. But eventually, we’d give in to our natural tendencies, forcing us to acknowledge that we were not, by any means, perfect.

By the end of the vacation week, the crude realities of life were exposed. We placed our toiletry bags in shared bathrooms, where anyone could see that we needed embarrassing pharmaceuticals such as stool softeners and anti-fungal ointment. We shared meals, so that everyone saw that we ate too much mayonnaise on our sandwiches, we dipped into the chips every couple of hours, and we’d get caught taking another brownie from the pan. We dozed off on the couch in front of everyone, showing the unflattering way that our mouths fell open and our chins multiplied when we are asleep. And yes, we commingled our laundry, allowing everyone to bear witness to the sometimes alarming size of our undergarments.

Exposing imperfections to friends and family wouldn’t be a problem if everyone was compassionate enough to mutually ignore each other's foibles while vacationing together.

However, after spending a whole week together in cramped conditions, my friends and family consider taking pot shots at each other to be a kind of vacation-time sporting event, like corn- holing or ladder ball.

So, in order to withstand the inevitable barrage of insults that would be hurled like bocce balls, I learned to develop a thick skin. I also learned that, while vacationing with others, harassment, brow-beating, rude sarcasm, relentless needling, and verbal abuse should be taken as nothing more than “playful banter.”

Based on my summer vacation experiences over the years, I’d advise that when your uncle says he thinks your mole is growing an eye, or when your best friend offers to put Metamucil in your daiquiri to help out with your constipation, or when your sister imitates your dance moves to make the kids laugh, you must try to appreciate their witticism and have a good laugh.

Oh... and never forget to fold your own laundry.

Read more at themeatandpotatoesoflife.com and in Lisa’s book, “The Meat and Potatoes of Life: My True Lit Com.” Email: meatandpotatoesoflife@gmail.com.