I can't believe I'm doing this! (A true tale)

25 years ago, when husband and I were first married, we lived in an apartment in the DC suburbs.  The building had regrettably thin floors, walls, and ceilings, and we lived in the apartment beneath a man who was the worlds greatest player.  He also had the world's noisiest bed springs.

Every Friday and Saturday night, around 2:30 in the morning, we would be awoken by the musical creaking and unmusical grunting of the man upstairs and his latest conquest.  Most Sunday mornings, we would come home from church to find some woman doing the walk of shame down the steps from the building.

One particularly memorable night, we were awoken by the sound of hysterical laughter intermingled with the squeaking of the bed springs.  The conversation we overheard follows:

*squeak, squeak, squeak, laugh, laugh, laugh*

I can't believe I'm doing this!

You have to relax, calm down!

*squeak, squeak, squeak, laugh, laugh, laugh*

Where am I again, L---?

Yes...

*squeak, squeak, squeak, laugh, laugh, laugh*

L-----?  hahahaha I can't believe I'm doing this.  I can't believe I'm doing this with you.

*squeak, squeak, squeak, laugh, laugh, snort*

I mean, you're so ugly...

THUD.... and then silence, as we heard the heavy foot steps walk across the room.


That was seriously cruel, but then again, when you're picking up drunk chicks at the bar every weekend just before closing time, I don't think you're going to find any kind of positive affirmation.
 (There is a lesson to be learned here.  Let all who hear it, learn it.)