We lived in Edmonton in the '80s in a weird little white bungalow about two blocks from the university. It was a house that didn't fit the lot, so the original owners had the builders set it sideways. Instead of a front and back door, we had two side doors. No true front window, only a dining room window. (The living room full window showed the neighbour's front yard.) The kitchen joined the dining room, which opened into the living room. From the kitchen, you could see past the dining table to the living room fireplace.
One day Dad came home from work and was in the kitchen fixing himself a drink, bagging at me about something or other. I was sitting in the living room, across from the fireplace, and I was in no mood to listen to Dad's grumpiness. So I made the talky-talky hand sign and screwed up my face, mimicking his grouchy words, wagging my finger. ONLY THEN did I remember that there was a mirrored wall over the fireplace, which could be seen in full from the kitchen -- and which showed everything that appeared in the living room. Heh heh. Er...love ya, Daddy-o! [Epilogue: I was not killed, only subjected to a glare that would have blistered paint.]
Moral and parable: Just because I think nobody's watching what I'm doing doesn't mean that I am invisible to others. And just because I can't believe others would bother to pay the slightest attention to what I do, doesn't mean they don't. UPSHOT: "Kind" and "Mindful" are the words of the week -- in fact, of the rest of my life.