Thin Walls Don't Make Good Neighbors

My mother and I once lived in a one bedroom apartment, 505, uncomfortably sandwiched in one squat level between two other units, on the top of a small hill. The walls were about as thick and sturdy as a Club cracker, and had none of the cracker's buttery deliciousness. Which is good, because if they did, we probably would have had no walls at all. I ate a lot at this point in my life. I'm getting sidetracked. As I was saying, if I was on one side of the apartment, and a neighbor in the apartment on the opposite side fucking blinked, I could hear it. I was a kindergartner living with an uptight, working single mom. (Nothing against my mom, she's cool and everything but I didn't think she was very cool when I was four and I wanted to jump around and shit.) Needless to say, any time I did anything, ever, you know, like, breathe- I was SHHed and told we had thin walls and I was going to disturb the neighbors. I might be exaggerating ever so slightly, but in my bouncy ball baby brain, that is what it seemed like.

One fine evening, I was sitting on the couch, watching an episode of The Golden Girls. Then my mother did something that really spiced up our otherwise quiet evening.