Wednesday, February 25, 2009

An Apology to Whoever Lives Below Us

I'm surprised our downstairs neighbors haven't yet used the handle of their broom on the ceiling.

We're always dropping things on the hardwood floor or dragging the coffee table a few inches this way or that. And if it's not us, it's the cats. I don't know how many times Will has knocked off the remote control.

I still haven't memorized the spots of the floor that squeak when I step on them. And I'm sometimes afraid I turn the TV on too loud.

A couple of nights ago I was even reading in bed and I hiccuped so violently that the book flew out of my hand, knocked into my mug of water on my nightstand and landed with a thump on the hardwood floor. At midnight.

I've never had to worry about this before. I lived in a couple of apartments in college, but c'mon, that was college. If a couch on fire in the middle of the street doesn't bother you, then I'm pretty sure heavy footsteps in the apartment above you won't bother you either.

1 comment:

  1. Our upstairs neighbors (a couple maybe around our age or a little older) are SO DAMN LOUD. Nice people, but omg. When the Ravens are playing, we can pretty much count on the dude yelling out a scream of expletives every five minutes to express his joy/disgust, depending on what's happening on the field. They're also up all hours of the night stomping around, and we heard the guy sneeze really loudly recently, too. We've also heard them doing other adult activities, too ... but that's all I'm going to say about that.

    We just laugh, unless it's 3 in the morning and we're trying to get some sleep.



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