I dragged my carcass to school this morning to get signed up for the fall semester and pay my tuition. While I stood in line to pay, the children of the woman in front of me ran wild. These two living, breathing examples of why I love birth control had just made the astonishing discovery that their shoes were perfect for making extremely loud squeaking sounds when rubbed across the shiny floor. So we all stood there and endured the maddening SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! SQUEAK! The hallway has really reflective acoustics, too, so the squeaks really echoed. Occasionally the mother would turn around and say (not scream), "Please stop squeaking." Or, "Don't squeak your shoes." I had flashbacks to my childhood and could hear my mother in just such a situation: "IF YOU DON'T STOP SQUEAKING THOSE SHOES I'M GONNA WHUP YOUR ASS SO HARD YOUR GRANDKIDS ARE GONNA FEEL IT!!" Ah, sweet memories of youth...