I live in an apartment in an area of town that I will nicely call upscale. I like the area very much because I can walk by myself, safely, at any time if day I choose. Two of my childhood homes are nearby and it’s fun to see them and remember jumping in leaf piles. Despite the close proximity of great ice cream, pretty parks and good shopping, I am happy to be moving. My apartment building, you see, is a place of ill repute.

Honest to god, I think I live with more hornballs than ever existed in either of my college dorms. I hear these people having sex ALL THE TIME. Now, your first thought might be “Good for them!” or “What, are you jealous?” But that only illustrates that you don’t understand.

I have a new neighbor living above me. (This person replaces the newswoman who used to live there and would have sex like clockwork every night at the same time and finish at the same time. Finish loudly, I might add.) This new neighbor must be a rabbit, or at least have some rabbit genes in his or her blood. This person has sex frequently, loudly and for long durations of time. It’s really quite distracting.

When I walk through my hallways to go to my storage unit or to do laundry, what do I hear? Sex. When I went to check with my neighbor that the dogs I fostered a while back were not bothering him with their constant barking and whimpering, he only answered, “Oh, I don’t sleep here often anyway.”

So in about a month when I move to my new house, I am not looking at it as leaving this neighborhood that I have grown to know and love. I am leaving the den of sex.

This post originally appeared on Kate’s Point of View. © Kate. All rights reserved.