Last night, I had my boyfriend over for dinner. I grilled veggies and potatoes and made a strawberry and peach shortcake with homemade whipped cream. After dinner, we sat outside and smoked a bowl, and I’d had two glasses of red wine. We were feeling good, conversation was flowing, and we ended up in the bedroom, as that’s what happens.

In the middle of you know what, I hear a knock at the door. We agree to ignore it. Then the doorbell. Ignore again, and he says I must be really quiet (we made it into a fun, sexy thing—like, you have to be quiet). Then the doorbell goes 12 times in quick succession. It occurs to me that maybe this is an emergency, so I put on all the clothes, go downstairs, and open the door.

Four kids (two sets of brothers) are in the street or trying to hide behind my car. Their moms are talking. I ask if there’s an emergency and the moms realize what the kids must have been doing. So they yell at them. I ask if I need to move my car (kind of like “Is there a reason you needed my attention?”) and the moms are like “Oh, no, it’s fine!” I’m like “Great, cool, have a good night,” then close the door and lock it, which I know they can hear.

I then go back upstairs and have loud sex. If they’re going to interrupt me like that, they can know why and have that awkward conversation with their kids about why the neighbor lady is screaming but it’s not because she’s being hurt.

GT: Any funny stories about coitus interruptus from the kiddos? Share.