The Having of Le Sex

Somewhere along the way, I dismissed the notion (which I learned from Pepé Le Pew) that French people are more amorous than others because, hey, we all like a good kiss and a little action. The French don’t have a patent on love and horniness, right?

Except actually, I think they do.

I live in a quiet building that has maybe ten flats in it. Being that I live in probably the smallest of those flats, I spend all my time sitting on my bed listening to iTunes – because it’s the comfiest place in my 180 square feet and because my TV doesn’t work. And also because iTunes is the only tool I have to drown out the constant (and I do mean constant) sound of people having sex. And it’s not just one couple having sex – oh no; the other night there were three couples going at once. I can only assume they were all in different flats, but harkening back to the teachings of Pepé who knows? Maybe they were all together in the same room. No idea.

To my sex-having neighbors I say (in all caps for emphasis) GOOD FOR YOU. Seriously. Get it when and while you can, people. My favorite T-shirt, owned by my favorite T-shirt connoisseur Adam, says, “Get some every day.” I couldn’t agree more. Do.  But some nights, I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in our building who’s not having sex. I’m the odd woman out, the strange one they talk about when they all get together and feed each other grapes and lick melty candle wax off each others’ thighs. My building’s like the Red Tent, only for sex, and I’m not in the tent.  I’m not on the cycle. I’m outside the Circle of Trust.

So what gives? Why do I care? I’m not mad; building noise is part of city livin’. I can sleep through a fire alarm, so I’m not irritated because they’re keeping me awake.  Am I envious? Yes, because if I’m not doing it, I don’t want to hear everyone else doing it.  I’m thankful my French isn’t great because otherwise I’d be able to hear every single instruction given – “Oui…oui…OUIIIIIIIII!!” Crystal clear – and that might get awkward down at the trash bins and the mailboxes.

Actually, it probably wouldn’t. Because guess what? I moved to freakin’ FRANCE! If I wanted to live in an unsexy country, I suppose I would’ve chosen, I don’t know, Latvia, Bulgaria, or maybe Poland. Because when I think of the world’s sexiest countries, I sure as hell don’t think of Poland. (No offense, Poland.)

So well done, France. Pepé would be proud. Keep doin’ what you’re doin’. Me, I’ll just be over here getting loaded on your excellent wine and cranking up my iTunes.  {Heavy sigh.}