Squeaky shoes

Her new shoes were huge; she bought bellbottoms to hide them. Her new shoes were squeaky. At the office, she walked through the carpeted areas, head down, and cringed inwardly at each loud, creaking step. She was not interested in engaging in the loose circles of employees chatting around the coffee maker, but her shoes announced her presence as she entered every room. People would look up, wait expectantly. She would smile and look for something in her pockets. They would return to their conversations.

Every morning she put on the shoes. Told herself she didn’t look that bad. Every morning she forgot how squeaky her new shoes were until she was around people. Until it was too late, when everyone had already heard her coming.