“This is the best kind of voyeurism, hearing joy from your neighbors.” ~Chuck Sigars
I have new neighbors. They moved in above me over the weekend though I have yet to set eyes on them. I do not know how many live there. I do not know what they look like or how old they are. I do not know their ethnicity or what car(s) they drive. I am not a snob. I promise. I simply have not managed to be outside simultaneously with them in order to introduce myself. The neighbor to my right has been unable to make contact either, so I am not feeling too bad. I am not, however, completely ignorant and have managed to discover a thing or two about them.
1. Someone up there walks from one room to the next as deftly as a stampeding elephant. I can always tell you what room is occupied by that particular individual.
2. They (whoever ‘they’ may be) have an astoundingly healthy sex life. They also have a box spring bed complete with headboard.
Yes, my fellow current or previous apartment dwellers, you know what I mean. The individuals who have moved in upstairs need to replace their overworked box spring mattress and move their bed (remember the headboard) a good foot away from the wall in order to eliminate the squeak, whack, squeak, whack rhythm that takes place every time they engage in the horizontal mambo … and, trust me, it happens often enough: 2am, 9am, 5pm, 10pm, 12am. Whenever! At this point they are averaging twice a day – or so I think. Remember, I’m out of my apartment for at least 9 hours every day.
“The only people who make love all the time are liars.” ~Gigi, Film (1958)
Please don’t get me wrong. I applaud them. I do. I can only assume that they are a married (or cohabitating) couple and, having been married before, I know how difficult it can be to … shall we say … make the time, but I do have one big problem.
What about the kids?
I’m not referring to the children this couple may already have (I haven’t heard the patter of little feet up there.) or will inevitably conceive as long as they keep up this marathon pace, I am talking about MY kids. I have two boys. Boys! Big K is twelve. Little K is seven.
My oldest child (excuse me, pre-teen) is not stupid. In fact he is quite brilliant. I have chosen to not address the issue with him because I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what is going on up there.
The youngest? Thank goodness he still has no reason to doubt the explanations given to him. Simply put: he believes mommy. Do you know what I told him? (Come on … you know you do!) Little K was in my room engrossed in the written word of his chapter book when the squeaking began to commence upstairs at a most inopportune mid-afternoon moment. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at me. He looked back at the ceiling. He looked back at me. I casually spit out the first thing that came to mind. “See? This is why I don’t let you jump on my bed!” Little K looked at the ceiling again, shrugged, and went back to the book he was reading. Yes! Crisis averted!
“Does it really matter what these affectionate people do – so long as they don’t do it in the streets and frighten the horses!” ~Mrs. Patrick Campbell
Oddly enough, I – the brutally honest one – have decided that when I do meet my new neighbors I might just congratulate them. Then again, I might not. There is no need for me to make them feel uncomfortable. Not to mention, as a semi-prudish divorcee plagued with my own frustrations, who am I to put a damper on such a vibrant part of their relationship? Who knows? I might suggest that good box springs make good neighbors or I might simply leave a note and a can of WD-40 on the front porch. What a welcome that would be!
“It is a folly to punish your neighbor by fire when you live next door.” ~Publilius Syrus
I have new neighbors. They moved in above me over the weekend though I have yet to set eyes on them. I do not know how many live there. I do not know what they look like or how old they are. I do not know their ethnicity or what car(s) they drive. I am not a snob. I promise. I simply have not managed to be outside simultaneously with them in order to introduce myself. The neighbor to my right has been unable to make contact either, so I am not feeling too bad. I am not, however, completely ignorant and have managed to discover a thing or two about them.
1. Someone up there walks from one room to the next as deftly as a stampeding elephant. I can always tell you what room is occupied by that particular individual.
2. They (whoever ‘they’ may be) have an astoundingly healthy sex life. They also have a box spring bed complete with headboard.
Yes, my fellow current or previous apartment dwellers, you know what I mean. The individuals who have moved in upstairs need to replace their overworked box spring mattress and move their bed (remember the headboard) a good foot away from the wall in order to eliminate the squeak, whack, squeak, whack rhythm that takes place every time they engage in the horizontal mambo … and, trust me, it happens often enough: 2am, 9am, 5pm, 10pm, 12am. Whenever! At this point they are averaging twice a day – or so I think. Remember, I’m out of my apartment for at least 9 hours every day.
“The only people who make love all the time are liars.” ~Gigi, Film (1958)
Please don’t get me wrong. I applaud them. I do. I can only assume that they are a married (or cohabitating) couple and, having been married before, I know how difficult it can be to … shall we say … make the time, but I do have one big problem.
What about the kids?
I’m not referring to the children this couple may already have (I haven’t heard the patter of little feet up there.) or will inevitably conceive as long as they keep up this marathon pace, I am talking about MY kids. I have two boys. Boys! Big K is twelve. Little K is seven.
My oldest child (excuse me, pre-teen) is not stupid. In fact he is quite brilliant. I have chosen to not address the issue with him because I’m pretty sure he knows exactly what is going on up there.
The youngest? Thank goodness he still has no reason to doubt the explanations given to him. Simply put: he believes mommy. Do you know what I told him? (Come on … you know you do!) Little K was in my room engrossed in the written word of his chapter book when the squeaking began to commence upstairs at a most inopportune mid-afternoon moment. He looked at the ceiling. He looked at me. He looked back at the ceiling. He looked back at me. I casually spit out the first thing that came to mind. “See? This is why I don’t let you jump on my bed!” Little K looked at the ceiling again, shrugged, and went back to the book he was reading. Yes! Crisis averted!
“Does it really matter what these affectionate people do – so long as they don’t do it in the streets and frighten the horses!” ~Mrs. Patrick Campbell
Oddly enough, I – the brutally honest one – have decided that when I do meet my new neighbors I might just congratulate them. Then again, I might not. There is no need for me to make them feel uncomfortable. Not to mention, as a semi-prudish divorcee plagued with my own frustrations, who am I to put a damper on such a vibrant part of their relationship? Who knows? I might suggest that good box springs make good neighbors or I might simply leave a note and a can of WD-40 on the front porch. What a welcome that would be!
“It is a folly to punish your neighbor by fire when you live next door.” ~Publilius Syrus
4 quotable comments:
Heh...I think you might be surprised at how little 12 year olds know, despite appearances and pretences. A child of that age, I believe, simply cannot fathom what it is about. My experience has been that the best thing to do is to be briefly informative, casual and comfortable about your comments ("boy, that couple sure has sex a lot") and then shut up until you're asked a question. And then *only* answer the question, no more. LOL, my heart goes out to you, this is such familiar ground to me!
/-/ Dave
So true and thanks! The older one hasn't been home for a "daytime romp" yet, but I will remember that exact phrase when the day inevitably rolls around.
Oh my, Beth. I must respectfully reject your frined Dave's idea that Kenny doesn't know exactly what is going on up there since I know exactly how smart and aware he is! Wish I had some magic answer! Maybe a little mop on the ceiling action like Rachel and Monica did...then again though, Mr. Crugar did end up dying shortly thereafter and that's certainly not the outcome you're looking for... At any rate, best of luck!
Amber :)
Frighten the horses! Ahahaha that was great! Wendy from MySpace. Glad I can still read your writing!
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