The following occurred at 11:20 a.m., today: Steve, a friend of mine and husband of Eunie who works next door to me, stopped by. "I thought of you on the way here! My shoes were making this great squeak! And I thought, '
findyouranswers would make this into a 20 minute story!' So here - follow me. I'll show it to you."
I go, because I imagine this squeak to be fantastic. We reach the ground floor where the floor has excellent squeakage.
"Oh, it's not doing it. They have to be wet. Hold on." Now, I assumed he'd head outside where it's wet as all get out. But no. Steve had a different plan. Steve decided to lift his foot and have the drinking fountain dribble onto the bottom of his shoe. Then he shook it around and did a little dance to get it on both feet. "Okay, ready?"
We then proceeded to walk down the hallway. He appeared giddy with squeaking joy. It was indeed an excellent squeak. But I am concerned as to what in the world made him think of me in connection to it. I was having flashbacks to the time someone asked if Carrie and I were "in need of a goat."
And also, I hope he realized that though I did not have a 20-minute story about it before, I most certainly do now.