I have squeaky shoes. I think it’s because they’re rather new, not thoroughly broken in yet. I suppose it really doesn’t matter. The important thing is that they creak and squeak, and I am sure the locus of the problem is by the heel. I’ve even experimented to verify my theory. I walked gently on the balls of my feet, trying to keep the heel suspended. No squeak. The thing is that walking like this is quite hard. The shoes are very nice dress ones, and they have well-defined heels and thinner front soles. Everytime I walk into the library or down a quiet hall, or even into the men’s restroom I feel self-conscious of my very-nice, but obnoxiously noisy shoes. They don’t know how to shut up. It’s a disgrace. Soon, I’m sure, I will take on an unwanted persona—that annoying man with those infernal creaking shoes. I am afraid of solemn, disapproving glances from well-heeled footwear connoisseurs. Afraid of nervous giggles from scrawny high-heeled click-clackers, dreadfully aware of the contempt that might come from carefree athletes who prefer mesh to leather. It really is a predicament.