Jake and I are living at my parents house, right? The basement has one 'bedroom,' which is stuffed to the gills and used as a computer room for my parents. (My parents, ironically, have about ten computers, dating back to the 1960s, but that's a tangent) So, Jake and I have our mattress out in the main room of the basement, in the most convenient spot, which does happen to be close to the bottom of the stairs.
Friday night, my sister's kids stayed the night. They are Isaac, who is about 2 and Ethan, who is not quite a year, I think. (I can barely remember my birthday, let alone theirs.) Saturday morning, Jake and I slept in, and when we woke up, did what married people, and plenty of unmarried people, do and have done since the dawn of time. Quietly. Very, very quietly.
My dad's voice is clear near the top of the stairs saying, "Put your clothes on, then you can play."
For about 5 panicked seconds we thought he was talking to us, then realized that one of the nephews was running around sans clothing upstairs. Jake and I nearly die laughing, smothering the sound in pillows.
That in itself was enough to freak me out of the mood, but Saturday mornings are a very civilized tradition of ours, and we *enjoy* each other, so we get started again.
Apparently, we were being a little too quiet, because, oh, ten minutes later, Dad came creeping down the stairs, assuming we were still asleep and planning to steal the highchair for the kids out of the computer room. Jake and I scramble for the blankets, there is a terrible, awkward moment, and Dad scrams as quickly as possible. I don't think he *saw* anything... we weren't doing anything at the moment, but I don't think there was any real doubt what was/could have been going on.
There isn't much you can do with a moment like that, so of course, Jake and I have to collapse back onto the bed laughing like banshees. When I got my breath back, I lean over to Jake and tell him, "We have to finish the house. Tonight."