Bunny Ears

Bunny Ears

“For the hundredth time, you pull the man through the front door. Then you push him through the other door. Tie him up and off you go.”

“That’s the dumbest way in the world to explain it. You make bunny loops and then tie the loops together. Easy peasy.”

John got down on the floor. He grabbed the shoelaces and tried to tie them. “Explain it to me again.”

Mike climbed down beside him. “Here, grab the two laces,” and then illustrated the bunny ears method of tying shoelaces.

A few moments went by. Then in walked Marie.

“What are you two doing now?” She towered over the two men lying on the floor with a pair of children’s shoes between them.

“We’re tying shoelaces.”

“No joke, Sherlock. I can see that. Don’t you learn that when you are, I don’t know, five or six?”

“Actually I was four. My mother said I was a very challenging child.” Mike glanced up at her and grinned.

“I have to illustrate this for a program at school. It’s for part of my Master's thesis.” John sat with the shoes in his lap. “I sure don’t remember any bunny ears when I was taught how to tie my shoes.”

“Probably because you didn’t wear shoes like this back in your caveman days,” Marie uttered as she left the room.

Mike started to laugh, John gave him the look.

“Ignore her. She never ties her shoes. Laces are always untied, flopping all over. Now, explain it to me one more time.”


W/C 262