The Persistence of the Squeaky Shoes
“Squeak squeak squeak!” went the little toddler’s shoes as he raced by and out of the pearl tea cafe. His harried Mom raced after him and grabbed his arm.
“Wait, honey. Mommy’s still waiting for her order,” she said as she pulled him back in.
“Squeak squeak squeak,” went his shoes as he followed her back in.
“What interesting shoes he has,” I said. “I’ve never seen shoes that were designed to squeak like that before.”
“I’ve seen those shoes in Chinatown shops,” Kathy said.
“Really?” I asked as I took a swig of my pearl tea. “They sound like those squeaky toys that dogs chew on,” I added as I chewed on some tapioca pearls.
“Heh. I usually see those with less Americanized Chinese families.”
“Ah,” I stated, rubbing my chin. “You mean fobby families.”
Kathy giggled and took a sip of her pearl tea.
“Squeak squeak squeak,” went the little boy’s shoes as he raced out of the store again. His eyes were transfixed on a dog outside.
His Mom, with her hair hovering in several disorganized directions, came after him again. Exasperated, she tugged him back in.
“Those shoes can be kind of annoying,” I said. “But for that Mom, they must be very useful.”
Kathy looked over at the little boy. “Oh?” The Mom was at the counter, waiting for her order while her little boy stood behind her, eyeing the dog.
“Yea. He seems to be quite a wanderer. But since his shoes squeak, she can hear him wander off. That’s helpful if she can’t keep her eyes on him all the time.”
“Ohhh,” Kathy nodded.
“Case in point,” I said, pointing at the little boy.
“Squeak squeak squeak,” went his shoes again as he raced by a third time.
“Honey, no, wait, come back here!” shouted his Mom. She sprinted to her son and instead of towing him back, picked him up and carried him to the counter.
“Looks like the Mom learned her lesson,” I observed. “We won’t be hearing him squeak by us anymore now.”
The little boy struggled in his Mom’s arms. His feet pounded against each other, emitting faintly audible, yet distinctly recognizable squeaks.
Kathy turned to me and grinned. I rolled my eyes. At the counter, “squeak squeak squeak,” went the little boy’s shoes.
Why do you think those shoes are squeak?
