Living in the city means listening in on each other’s lives. And at least these things are happy sounds. Right?
Is there a more beautiful sound in the world than children laughing? Yes, yes there is. And last night, I heard it a lot.
My neighbour has been having a great deal of sex lately. And it’s summer. It’s hot. So the windows between our apartment blocks are open.
As a result, I’ve been hearing a lot of orgasms. Even more than usual.
I don’t know this neighbour, so it’s not clear if these are the blissful early throes of new flirtation, or a fortuitous mid-marriage renaissance. But I do know this – as a tired working parent collapsing into bed each night – as uplifting as the sounds of ecstasy are, they’re also really, really ANNOYING.
If they drift through the window at a particularly dark moment, they can make a person question her very life choices.
But do I go marching next door to insist the happy couple turn down their joy? Do I put a passive-aggressive note under their door suggesting they put a sock (or something more interesting) in it? Do I yell out of the window, ‘this isn’t the fucking INTERNET, you know!’
NO. I do not.
Because I live in a city, in close proximity to others, and I have to put up with their noise, they have to put up with my noise.
It’s a lesson that the supremely grumpy bastards who this week tried to get a Sydney cafe to remove their children’s playhouse would do well to learn.
As Mamamia reported earlier this week, the owners of the delightfully crunchy Sprout Wholefood Cafe on Sydney’s Northern Beaches have been fighting to save a cubbyhouse. You know, an innocent mini-wooden playplace they built on their property for customers’ kids to play in while parents indulge in paleo protein bombs and grated beetroot salad.