I know you can hear us. I am sorry.
I don't know what else to say to her. You see, S and I have a (very) part-time roommate in the city. We keep a little crash pad for when her job with The Company requires her to travel with layovers and standbys and whatever-the-fuck-they want to call it. My job... well... I also need a place to crash in the city because my nursing career has now found me in these "parts."
I'm new to this roommate thing. Part of me really likes it. It's fun in a "Facts of Life" boarding school, kind of way. (Maybe not the best description... there's only three of us, and no one is really acting as a "house mother" but... I really want to fantasize sometimes about Roomie as Jo... Shhhhhh... don't tell S.)
Anway... I mostly don't like it. But I really like her. She is so smart and funny. And super duper cute (I mentioned the fantasy thing right?) It's just this little teeny tiny ... thing getting in the way.... you see...
I know Roomie can hear us. Talking. Walking. Brushing our teeth. I know Roomie can hear me typing this probably right now.
S and I aren't really new to the "joys" of hushed sex. We don't like it. But we tolerate it... for the kiddlets.
Then we come to the crash pad and Roomie is right across the hall and it's worse than having hushed kiddlets sex. Because at least there is a CHANCE in frozen over hell that the kiddlets may not hear us, OR if they do hear us... they won't know what the fuck that sound MEANS.
Our 30 something Roomie knows what the fuck "that sound" means coming from across the hall. "That sound" only really means one thing. It means that we are really enjoying our
boarding school experience crash pad.