My parents live in a large co-op complex in Brooklyn, and have had not much luck with the neighbors upstairs.
Unfortunately, the apartments are not very soundproofed, and even with carpeting on the floor, they can hear all of the comings and goings of the family above them.
The husband, a doctor, is a resident at a hospital in Virginia, and only comes home on weekends, apparently.
Christmas Day, I was asking about the neighbors.
"Oh, he comes home every Friday night from his residency" my father says.
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"Because every Friday, we hear them making love until the wee hours of the morning!" my father states proudly. "They have a very squeaky bed!"
I'm still processing the fact that my father says things like "Make Love", when my mother decides to put her two cents in.
"The guy next door, he used to have this girlfriend, and we would hear them going at it all the time," she giggles.
I don't want to ask, but I have to. I just have to. "And you know this because...?"
"Well," she said while doling out whipped cream for our tiramisu, "his girlfriend used to scream SO LOUD, it would keep us up at night. I thought that only happened in the MOVIES."
Yea Ma. Only in the movies. *wink*
I wonder if they think I'm still a virgin?