Apartment Appraisal

I used to think the expression "paper thin walls" was figurative, but beneath a few layers of paint, I'm pretty sure our apartment walls are indeed paper mache. Given a broom handle, a blindfolded five year old could demolish our living room in a matter of minutes. This wouldn't be an enormous problem if our bathroom didn't share a wall with our living room and there were more than a few inches separating our toilet from our couch.

Tonight I was making my way to the bathroom and without thinking, handed the remote to my wife and far too casually said, "You might want to turn something on." I was a little thrown off at how normal this exchange had become. Telegraphing bowel movements had somehow become routine. I know what you're thinking, and I'm as surprised as you are, it's a wonder we have sex at all. I suppose it's natural to try and avoid embarrassment by ensuring you aren't the only thing making noise when going to the bathroom, but it's awful any way you look at it.

The walls aren't our only issue with the bathroom. The space must not have been big enough to afford a tub. We have one of those shower stalls instead. This I'll admit, isn't a big problem for me, but when it's time for my wife's monthly leg shave she generally has a hard time of it.

Our bedrooms are fine, I can't grumble about much there, but our floors are a problem. There's a good chance our neighbors can hear us complain about them because we can sure hear when they do just about anything. I am perpetually grateful they do not seem to have sex. Actually it's safe to say I know they don't, because it would be impossible to miss with the lack of insulation in this place.

A couple of apartments back we had, in my opinion, an unhealthily sexual couple above us. I remember lying in bed and thinking, Really guys? Didn't you just have sex a week ago? Our apartments had hardwood floors and though I've heard people having sex before in other apartments the acoustics of those floors really let it ring. My wife and I used to laugh whenever we would hear "the music". "The music" was what I think our neighbors used to help drown out the noise of their raucous sex. Little did they know it only acted as a sad soundtrack. Background music to the lusty sounds of successful intercourse. I suppose they used "the music" like we use, "you should turn something on". Though instead of signalling, "I'm about to rock your world" it signals, "I'm about to turn you off for weeks."