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Description
A bachelor’s degree dissertation notoriously requires impeccable look and attire. Especially if you are a very attractive girl and you already know that you will attract all the stares of those who will be present at the graduation ceremony...

After years of study, she was nearly on the verge of having completed her academic studies: there were only a few days left between her and the coveted bachelor's degree.

In preparation for her dissertation, she had had her twin sister (tall, blond and slender like herself) accompany her to buy a suit for such an important occasion: she had opted for a superb pearl-grey suit by Armani, a double-breasted jacket with straight-leg trousers.

For shoes (a real obsession of hers) she had allowed herself to be persuaded by her sister to buy a pair of pumps with a round toe and very high heel by Prada, one of her favourite designers. The latest fashion shoes, taupe (one of the trendiest colours for that spring).

The shoes... the shoes, yes.

She was such a shoe maniac, always looking for new models with invariably extremely high heels in order to emphasise her long legs.

Of course, with legs as gorgeously shaped as hers, any shoe would do, even a miserable pair of flip-flops or anonymous flats.
Perfect legs like hers did not need special shoes to be 'enhanced'.
And yet?
With a pair of heels like Prada's, she would have made an even bigger impression...
The professors and male assistants had eyes only for her.

To avoid any kind of problem or unforeseen event that could jeopardise her participation in the bachelor's thesis ceremony, she had avoided training and practising sports the previous week: no volleyball match with friends, nor the usual Saturday morning tennis match at the sports club. She absolutely wanted to avoid even the smallest risk of suffering injury, even a simple sprained ankle....

For this reason, despite her obsessive pursuit of perfect physical fitness, she had led a decidedly sedentary life in the week leading up to the thesis discussion, contrary to her habits.

The previous Sunday, however, she had not been able to escape a family lunch for her great-aunt's birthday: she had, therefore, gone with the whole family to her grandmother's house, a notoriously great cook, where the lunch was to be held.

She had wanted to wear new Prada shoes at all costs to, so she said, get the soles of her feet used to the shape of the shoes and avoid any kind of problem on the day of the speech.

She wore an elegant white shirt with a light grey waistcoat over it with mother-of-pearl buttons and a wide flounced skirt, also light grey, that came halfway down her leg, leaving her beautiful, shapely ankles uncovered.

Her aunts and grandmother, seeing her, had complimented her on her beautiful shoes, saying «Darling, you look simply wonderful and these new shoes are simply spectacular... Be careful, though, with such high heels you might slip...».

She shrugged her shoulders, reassuring them: «Dear aunties, thank you for your concern, but you have nothing to fear as far as I'm concerned: I'm used to walking in high heels and to avoid any 'risky situation' I haven't done any sport for a week. More cautious than that...» and she took her leave of them, winking and moving easily in those breathtaking heels...

Didn't she know that doing sport is not the only way to get injured?

That there are much more mundane but no less dangerous situations and circumstances?

Well... if she didn't know, she discovered it on her own skin (errr... on her leg...).

One of her little cousins (the ever-present naughty boy) was 'whizzing' around the house that Sunday on his brand-new scooter.

She was helping to set the table, at that moment carrying some soup plates after carefully arranging the tablecloth on the dining table.

As she stood in the middle of the aisle, balancing rather precariously because of the high heels and, more importantly, the plates she was holding, she had sensed a particular excitement behind her, a confused and indistinct chattering of children, and then like a shift in the air...

She had managed to catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye, had turned just in time to see her 'brave' little cousin picking up speed on his scooter.

It had been a matter of seconds.

A few, very few, seconds.

Seconds, however, at the same time precious for her who, displaying truly remarkable agility, had managed to dodge at the last moment, managing to avoid the impact with the 'motorised' brat who had only grazed her.

She would have liked to chase after him to at least give him a spanking, but the plates she was carrying prevented her from an 'active reaction' and so she merely scolded him loudly: «Are you crazy? Where are you going in such a hurry? You almost ran me over, you little rude man! Auntie could have been hurt, very hurt...».

At Auntie’s reproachful words (she liked to be called that by him, even though she was only his older cousin...) the little one had stopped and, turning around with a contrite expression, had smiled and told her 'Sorry Auntie, I didn't mean to scare you'.

She had melted, when her beloved little boy called her ‘Auntie’ she inevitably went into jujubes....

So she had shouted after him, while the little one had resumed his 'excursions' on his scooter «That's enough though, no scootering inside the house, understood? Otherwise no fries for lunch!».

But the little one had already turned the corner in search of new adventures and new cousins or aunts to 'scare'.

So she had turned around and headed back to the dining room, breathing a sigh of relief and thinking to herself 'Phew, that little brat almost made me take a tumble... He's a real earthquake of a child...'.

She had picked up her pace towards the dining room, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the plates she was holding....

If only she had looked a little lower, she would have realised another dangerous situation, far more serious than her little cousin...

At the point where the little boy had stopped his scooter ride the carpet runner that was on the floor had risen dangerously, forming a sort of bump.

When she had resumed walking, however, she hadn't noticed anything... one step, two steps and on the third, Prada’s wonderful shoe had rested right on the rise of the carpet.

She had swung dangerously on herself: trying not to lose her balance so as not to drop the plates, she had nevertheless tried to remain standing, but the carpet had curled further under her feet, knocking her off her feet and causing her to lose her balance invariably.

Thus she had fallen to the floor, heavily, with all her weight on one leg.

Attracted by the great noise (despite all her efforts, most of the plates had invariably fallen apart) relatives and acquaintances had rushed to her aid.

She had been helped to her feet, but as soon as she had tried to put her foot back on the floor she had screamed in pain, squirming and writhing on her stomach.

Picked up, she had been gently placed on the large sofa in the dining room, her leg held up on pillows and a large bag of ice pressed against it.

At first she did not want to be taken to hospital for a check-up. «There is no reason to go to the ER. I only hit my bottom, it's nothing serious, I will soon be fine...».

To the relatives who worriedly pointed to her ankle which, after the shoe had been removed, had started to swell conspicuously, she replied «I just sprained it, a little ice and it will pass quickly. Tomorrow morning I'll be back on my feet as if nothing had happened...».

Some of her cousins and, above all, her sister made efforts to reassure her and to smile at her complacently, even though they had very strong misgivings about her display of optimism...

She had taken part in the lunch, although confined to the sofa, still with the ice pack firmly pressed against her leg that had banged so violently on the floor. Beside her lay sadly one of Prada's wonderful new shoes, the one slipped off her foot on which she had 'landed', now visibly swollen and battered.

Later that afternoon, however, the pain had increased so much and the ankle so swollen that she could no longer refuse to be taken to hospital.

There, unfortunately, the X-rays gave her a harsh, unquestionable verdict: the unfortunate slip on the carpet 'curled' by her little cousin and his cursed scooter had cost her dearly.

As the obnoxious doctor on duty revealed the ominous diagnosis, she listened, pressing her hands to her cheeks in dismay.

Double fracture of the malleolus, complete rupture of the deltoid ligaments of the ankle and, as if that were not enough, fracture of the calcaneus.

The unpleasant doctor had also pointed out that, at the moment, she was unable to make a precise prognosis, but, in any case, the poor grad student would have to wear the cast for no less than twelve weeks.
«Complications excluded…» she added with a chuckling simile…
The poor girl had almost fainted when she began to realise what awaited her, namely a long period of forced cohabitation with a large plaster cast.

Stuck in a wheelchair, as she was wheeled into the cast room for the necessary treatment, she had begun to lash out at the thought of the suffering in store for her immediate future.

She had returned home that evening with her mood under her heels, with the shoe of her injured foot placed in a bag, now useless, and with a new heel, absolutely detestable and detested: the rubber one that the odious nurse had with her usual skill promptly applied under the sole of the gigantic plaster cast that covered her entire leg, from a few cm below the groin to the tips of her toes.
«An enormously hideous white monstrosity!». That’s what she called it as soon as the cast technician had finished applying it.

The graduation discussion will therefore take place in a very different way from what the beautiful blonde was expecting: not a triumphal catwalk with her elegant, beautiful and ethereal, swathed in Armani's double-breasted suit, taking the applause of friends and relatives and the compliments of the examination board.

But with her injured, visibly distraught and psychologically prostrate, stunned (almost stupefied) by the painkillers inevitably needed in massive doses, precariously balancing on crutches, trying to control on the one hand the continuous twinges of pain from the leg fractured only a few days before and on the other the lively embarrassment that pervades her for being forced to show off in such a miserable condition.

On the day of the thesis, needless to say, the Armani suit remained in the wardrobe (ready for the next occasion, even if a day like graduation only happens once in a lifetime...) and she had to fall back on a decidedly more drab and less pretentious outfit, although objectively more comfortable to wear.

The trousers of the suit, in fact, had to be suitably ripped along the seam to 'accommodate' the white big leg that would never fit into the trouser leg.

In order to avoid this 'haute couture ruin', she opted for an anonymous high-necked grey jersey dress over which she directly wore a black coat.

She wanted to wear her long blonde hair down, even though, despite the hours spent with her sister at the straightener, she had to surrender to the evidence of having to put up with particularly unruly hair... due to the stress caused by the situation and the associated lack of sleep.

On her healthy foot, however, she stubbornly wanted to wear one of Prada's new shoes: she would not listen to reason, not wanting in any way that the only 'heel' she wore on that very special day should be that of such enormous plaster cast.

The thesis discussion is to take place in a few minutes, she has arrived in her car right in front of the faculty entrance (a concession exceptionally granted to her in view of her state of objective disability...) and she is struggling to get out of the car.

Her twin sister, who for the occasion wears a mid-thigh skirt that highlights her stunning legs, is ready to hand her the crutches.

She, as she uses all her strength to lift her very heavy big leg and place it on the pavement, has her gaze fixed on the toes of her foot (with nails painted such a dark red that they look black, perfectly in line with her catacomb-like mood) sticking out of the cast and thinks back to that cursed bloody scooter that, by causing the carpet to lift, had created the conditions so that, together with most of the plates she was carrying into the dining room, different bones in her poor leg would also fall to pieces...

Having finally entered the large graduation hall, after struggling her way through the acquaintances of her graduating class who inevitably subjected her to a veritable barrage of questions about her condition, the poor little blonde immediately sank into one of the armchairs in the first row, her white big leg resting on its imposing plaster heel.

During the discussion of the theses of the other candidates, what attracted her attention were not the many charitable glances that more or less everyone present was giving her, nor the more or less veiled fingers pointed in the direction of her big leg.

Her attention was attracted, if not entirely captured, by a strange 'sound', a noise that seemed to come from the back of the great hall: she was constantly turning around to try to catch sight of the source of that strange noise, but, unfortunately for her, the cumbersome groin-high cast did not allow her to fully twist her torso and, therefore, she could not turn around completely as she would have liked.

There was, objectively, a peculiar noise, a sort of prolonged screeching, as if rubbing against the floor, occasionally followed by higher-pitched squeals, as if braking or some such thing...

When it was finally her turn, she, despite the loving words of the examination board who invited her, given her condition, to remain seated, would not listen to reason and wanted to do her thesis dissertation standing up.

She laboriously made her way to the centre of the hall and, strenuously clinging to her crutches, spoke for a good twenty minutes.

Her twin sister, who was in charge of projecting the slides, changed slides every time she tapped the base of the crutch she was holding to the left on the floor (this was the 'agreed signal' between the two of them).

From time to time she lifted the right crutch to indicate numbers and data on the graphs that were being projected on the screen.

Before that day (and, more importantly, before breaking her leg) she would never have said that an orthopaedic crutch could have coped so well with a luminous arrow…

What disturbed her during her speech, however, was not only the encumbrance of the monumental cast, nor the struggle to keep herself upright on crutches: it was, invariably and unfailingly, that strange 'sound' that kept reaching her ears from behind.

Immediately after the dissertation (which, for the record, earned her maximum points, but one knows that professors always soften up in front of a leg in plaster) the mystery of that strange 'sound' finally unravelled.

She, with obvious difficulty, was approaching the examination board table to put her signature on the examination register.

After the good twenty minutes she had spent in the middle of the room, practically immobile on crutches, her casted leg had fatally fallen asleep, so those twenty steps, perhaps even fewer, needed to reach the examination board's desk had become even more arduous for her.

With small, very slow steps, she was making her way towards the desk: in the almost absolute silence only the "THUD" caused by the crutches against the linoleum floor and the "BAM" every time the white big leg touched the ground could be heard.

She continued, however, to hear another noise as well, always that strange 'sound'...

She was almost at the desk, when a figure on a small scooter literally emerged from behind and almost grazed one of the crutches she was holding onto, causing her to stagger visibly...

One of the professor's assistants promptly intervened and grabbed her by the arm, preventing her from falling.

He told her «Damn, Miss, you almost fell again...».

She blushed visibly, because she was really fond of that assistant from the first day of the course, and said «Thank you professor, I don't know what would have happened without your prompt intervention».

He amiably replied «Don't worry Miss, the last thing we want is to see you with another broken leg».

She, thinking of the scenario of her with both legs in plaster, blanched and froze on her crutches, as if stricken with temporary paralysis....

Then she walked very slowly back to the examination board table.

Her little cousin walked past her again, blocking his scooter, right in front of her.

The front wheel of the scooter just inches from the thick plaster toeplate. Auntie’s big foot toes (polished a dark red almost black, as funereal as her mood) were wiggling up and down, a clear sign of her nervousness now almost out of control.

She rolled her eyes and glared at him.

She was on the verge of blurting out, but, resorting to the remotest reserves of patience, she managed to control herself....

Motioning the little boy to step aside, she laboriously 'got back on track'.

But the little cousin insisted, telling her «Auntie, would you like to come for a ride behind me?», ending the question with on of the typical giggles of cheeky kids.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back....

Amid the laughter and general hilarity (even of the professors on the exam board), Auntie's scream, and especially her attempt to grab her little cousin by the throat, went down in the annals of the university.

The image of the 'gentle' auntie who, dropping both crutches to the ground, drags (with an energy unthinkable for a maiden in her condition) the hulking plaster cast pointing straight at her little cousin, five (five!) people being needed to arrest her vengeful impetus, will remain etched in the memory of all those present.

Well, nothing to be done about it: a groin-to-toe plaster cast turns even the most amiable aunties into beasts thirsting for revenge...

You can bet that the relationship between the blonde auntie and her naughty little cousin will never again be as serene and easy-going as it was before...

Description
A bachelor’s degree dissertation notoriously requires impeccable look and attire. Especially if you are a very attractive girl and you already know that you will attract all the stares of those who will be present at the graduation ceremony...

After years of study, she was nearly on the verge of having completed her academic studies: there were only a few days left between her and the coveted bachelor's degree.

In preparation for her dissertation, she had had her twin sister (tall, blond and slender like herself) accompany her to buy a suit for such an important occasion: she had opted for a superb pearl-grey suit by Armani, a double-breasted jacket with straight-leg trousers.

For shoes (a real obsession of hers) she had allowed herself to be persuaded by her sister to buy a pair of pumps with a round toe and very high heel by Prada, one of her favourite designers. The latest fashion shoes, taupe (one of the trendiest colours for that spring).

The shoes... the shoes, yes.

She was such a shoe maniac, always looking for new models with invariably extremely high heels in order to emphasise her long legs.

Of course, with legs as gorgeously shaped as hers, any shoe would do, even a miserable pair of flip-flops or anonymous flats.
Perfect legs like hers did not need special shoes to be 'enhanced'.
And yet?
With a pair of heels like Prada's, she would have made an even bigger impression...
The professors and male assistants had eyes only for her.

To avoid any kind of problem or unforeseen event that could jeopardise her participation in the bachelor's thesis ceremony, she had avoided training and practising sports the previous week: no volleyball match with friends, nor the usual Saturday morning tennis match at the sports club. She absolutely wanted to avoid even the smallest risk of suffering injury, even a simple sprained ankle....

For this reason, despite her obsessive pursuit of perfect physical fitness, she had led a decidedly sedentary life in the week leading up to the thesis discussion, contrary to her habits.

The previous Sunday, however, she had not been able to escape a family lunch for her great-aunt's birthday: she had, therefore, gone with the whole family to her grandmother's house, a notoriously great cook, where the lunch was to be held.

She had wanted to wear new Prada shoes at all costs to, so she said, get the soles of her feet used to the shape of the shoes and avoid any kind of problem on the day of the speech.

She wore an elegant white shirt with a light grey waistcoat over it with mother-of-pearl buttons and a wide flounced skirt, also light grey, that came halfway down her leg, leaving her beautiful, shapely ankles uncovered.

Her aunts and grandmother, seeing her, had complimented her on her beautiful shoes, saying «Darling, you look simply wonderful and these new shoes are simply spectacular... Be careful, though, with such high heels you might slip...».

She shrugged her shoulders, reassuring them: «Dear aunties, thank you for your concern, but you have nothing to fear as far as I'm concerned: I'm used to walking in high heels and to avoid any 'risky situation' I haven't done any sport for a week. More cautious than that...» and she took her leave of them, winking and moving easily in those breathtaking heels...

Didn't she know that doing sport is not the only way to get injured?

That there are much more mundane but no less dangerous situations and circumstances?

Well... if she didn't know, she discovered it on her own skin (errr... on her leg...).

One of her little cousins (the ever-present naughty boy) was 'whizzing' around the house that Sunday on his brand-new scooter.

She was helping to set the table, at that moment carrying some soup plates after carefully arranging the tablecloth on the dining table.

As she stood in the middle of the aisle, balancing rather precariously because of the high heels and, more importantly, the plates she was holding, she had sensed a particular excitement behind her, a confused and indistinct chattering of children, and then like a shift in the air...

She had managed to catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye, had turned just in time to see her 'brave' little cousin picking up speed on his scooter.

It had been a matter of seconds.

A few, very few, seconds.

Seconds, however, at the same time precious for her who, displaying truly remarkable agility, had managed to dodge at the last moment, managing to avoid the impact with the 'motorised' brat who had only grazed her.

She would have liked to chase after him to at least give him a spanking, but the plates she was carrying prevented her from an 'active reaction' and so she merely scolded him loudly: «Are you crazy? Where are you going in such a hurry? You almost ran me over, you little rude man! Auntie could have been hurt, very hurt...».

At Auntie’s reproachful words (she liked to be called that by him, even though she was only his older cousin...) the little one had stopped and, turning around with a contrite expression, had smiled and told her 'Sorry Auntie, I didn't mean to scare you'.

She had melted, when her beloved little boy called her ‘Auntie’ she inevitably went into jujubes....

So she had shouted after him, while the little one had resumed his 'excursions' on his scooter «That's enough though, no scootering inside the house, understood? Otherwise no fries for lunch!».

But the little one had already turned the corner in search of new adventures and new cousins or aunts to 'scare'.

So she had turned around and headed back to the dining room, breathing a sigh of relief and thinking to herself 'Phew, that little brat almost made me take a tumble... He's a real earthquake of a child...'.

She had picked up her pace towards the dining room, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the plates she was holding....

If only she had looked a little lower, she would have realised another dangerous situation, far more serious than her little cousin...

At the point where the little boy had stopped his scooter ride the carpet runner that was on the floor had risen dangerously, forming a sort of bump.

When she had resumed walking, however, she hadn't noticed anything... one step, two steps and on the third, Prada’s wonderful shoe had rested right on the rise of the carpet.

She had swung dangerously on herself: trying not to lose her balance so as not to drop the plates, she had nevertheless tried to remain standing, but the carpet had curled further under her feet, knocking her off her feet and causing her to lose her balance invariably.

Thus she had fallen to the floor, heavily, with all her weight on one leg.

Attracted by the great noise (despite all her efforts, most of the plates had invariably fallen apart) relatives and acquaintances had rushed to her aid.

She had been helped to her feet, but as soon as she had tried to put her foot back on the floor she had screamed in pain, squirming and writhing on her stomach.

Picked up, she had been gently placed on the large sofa in the dining room, her leg held up on pillows and a large bag of ice pressed against it.

At first she did not want to be taken to hospital for a check-up. «There is no reason to go to the ER. I only hit my bottom, it's nothing serious, I will soon be fine...».

To the relatives who worriedly pointed to her ankle which, after the shoe had been removed, had started to swell conspicuously, she replied «I just sprained it, a little ice and it will pass quickly. Tomorrow morning I'll be back on my feet as if nothing had happened...».

Some of her cousins and, above all, her sister made efforts to reassure her and to smile at her complacently, even though they had very strong misgivings about her display of optimism...

She had taken part in the lunch, although confined to the sofa, still with the ice pack firmly pressed against her leg that had banged so violently on the floor. Beside her lay sadly one of Prada's wonderful new shoes, the one slipped off her foot on which she had 'landed', now visibly swollen and battered.

Later that afternoon, however, the pain had increased so much and the ankle so swollen that she could no longer refuse to be taken to hospital.

There, unfortunately, the X-rays gave her a harsh, unquestionable verdict: the unfortunate slip on the carpet 'curled' by her little cousin and his cursed scooter had cost her dearly.

As the obnoxious doctor on duty revealed the ominous diagnosis, she listened, pressing her hands to her cheeks in dismay.

Double fracture of the malleolus, complete rupture of the deltoid ligaments of the ankle and, as if that were not enough, fracture of the calcaneus.

The unpleasant doctor had also pointed out that, at the moment, she was unable to make a precise prognosis, but, in any case, the poor grad student would have to wear the cast for no less than twelve weeks.
«Complications excluded…» she added with a chuckling simile…
The poor girl had almost fainted when she began to realise what awaited her, namely a long period of forced cohabitation with a large plaster cast.

Stuck in a wheelchair, as she was wheeled into the cast room for the necessary treatment, she had begun to lash out at the thought of the suffering in store for her immediate future.

She had returned home that evening with her mood under her heels, with the shoe of her injured foot placed in a bag, now useless, and with a new heel, absolutely detestable and detested: the rubber one that the odious nurse had with her usual skill promptly applied under the sole of the gigantic plaster cast that covered her entire leg, from a few cm below the groin to the tips of her toes.
«An enormously hideous white monstrosity!». That’s what she called it as soon as the cast technician had finished applying it.

The graduation discussion will therefore take place in a very different way from what the beautiful blonde was expecting: not a triumphal catwalk with her elegant, beautiful and ethereal, swathed in Armani's double-breasted suit, taking the applause of friends and relatives and the compliments of the examination board.

But with her injured, visibly distraught and psychologically prostrate, stunned (almost stupefied) by the painkillers inevitably needed in massive doses, precariously balancing on crutches, trying to control on the one hand the continuous twinges of pain from the leg fractured only a few days before and on the other the lively embarrassment that pervades her for being forced to show off in such a miserable condition.

On the day of the thesis, needless to say, the Armani suit remained in the wardrobe (ready for the next occasion, even if a day like graduation only happens once in a lifetime...) and she had to fall back on a decidedly more drab and less pretentious outfit, although objectively more comfortable to wear.

The trousers of the suit, in fact, had to be suitably ripped along the seam to 'accommodate' the white big leg that would never fit into the trouser leg.

In order to avoid this 'haute couture ruin', she opted for an anonymous high-necked grey jersey dress over which she directly wore a black coat.

She wanted to wear her long blonde hair down, even though, despite the hours spent with her sister at the straightener, she had to surrender to the evidence of having to put up with particularly unruly hair... due to the stress caused by the situation and the associated lack of sleep.

On her healthy foot, however, she stubbornly wanted to wear one of Prada's new shoes: she would not listen to reason, not wanting in any way that the only 'heel' she wore on that very special day should be that of such enormous plaster cast.

The thesis discussion is to take place in a few minutes, she has arrived in her car right in front of the faculty entrance (a concession exceptionally granted to her in view of her state of objective disability...) and she is struggling to get out of the car.

Her twin sister, who for the occasion wears a mid-thigh skirt that highlights her stunning legs, is ready to hand her the crutches.

She, as she uses all her strength to lift her very heavy big leg and place it on the pavement, has her gaze fixed on the toes of her foot (with nails painted such a dark red that they look black, perfectly in line with her catacomb-like mood) sticking out of the cast and thinks back to that cursed bloody scooter that, by causing the carpet to lift, had created the conditions so that, together with most of the plates she was carrying into the dining room, different bones in her poor leg would also fall to pieces...

Having finally entered the large graduation hall, after struggling her way through the acquaintances of her graduating class who inevitably subjected her to a veritable barrage of questions about her condition, the poor little blonde immediately sank into one of the armchairs in the first row, her white big leg resting on its imposing plaster heel.

During the discussion of the theses of the other candidates, what attracted her attention were not the many charitable glances that more or less everyone present was giving her, nor the more or less veiled fingers pointed in the direction of her big leg.

Her attention was attracted, if not entirely captured, by a strange 'sound', a noise that seemed to come from the back of the great hall: she was constantly turning around to try to catch sight of the source of that strange noise, but, unfortunately for her, the cumbersome groin-high cast did not allow her to fully twist her torso and, therefore, she could not turn around completely as she would have liked.

There was, objectively, a peculiar noise, a sort of prolonged screeching, as if rubbing against the floor, occasionally followed by higher-pitched squeals, as if braking or some such thing...

When it was finally her turn, she, despite the loving words of the examination board who invited her, given her condition, to remain seated, would not listen to reason and wanted to do her thesis dissertation standing up.

She laboriously made her way to the centre of the hall and, strenuously clinging to her crutches, spoke for a good twenty minutes.

Her twin sister, who was in charge of projecting the slides, changed slides every time she tapped the base of the crutch she was holding to the left on the floor (this was the 'agreed signal' between the two of them).

From time to time she lifted the right crutch to indicate numbers and data on the graphs that were being projected on the screen.

Before that day (and, more importantly, before breaking her leg) she would never have said that an orthopaedic crutch could have coped so well with a luminous arrow…

What disturbed her during her speech, however, was not only the encumbrance of the monumental cast, nor the struggle to keep herself upright on crutches: it was, invariably and unfailingly, that strange 'sound' that kept reaching her ears from behind.

Immediately after the dissertation (which, for the record, earned her maximum points, but one knows that professors always soften up in front of a leg in plaster) the mystery of that strange 'sound' finally unravelled.

She, with obvious difficulty, was approaching the examination board table to put her signature on the examination register.

After the good twenty minutes she had spent in the middle of the room, practically immobile on crutches, her casted leg had fatally fallen asleep, so those twenty steps, perhaps even fewer, needed to reach the examination board's desk had become even more arduous for her.

With small, very slow steps, she was making her way towards the desk: in the almost absolute silence only the "THUD" caused by the crutches against the linoleum floor and the "BAM" every time the white big leg touched the ground could be heard.

She continued, however, to hear another noise as well, always that strange 'sound'...

She was almost at the desk, when a figure on a small scooter literally emerged from behind and almost grazed one of the crutches she was holding onto, causing her to stagger visibly...

One of the professor's assistants promptly intervened and grabbed her by the arm, preventing her from falling.

He told her «Damn, Miss, you almost fell again...».

She blushed visibly, because she was really fond of that assistant from the first day of the course, and said «Thank you professor, I don't know what would have happened without your prompt intervention».

He amiably replied «Don't worry Miss, the last thing we want is to see you with another broken leg».

She, thinking of the scenario of her with both legs in plaster, blanched and froze on her crutches, as if stricken with temporary paralysis....

Then she walked very slowly back to the examination board table.

Her little cousin walked past her again, blocking his scooter, right in front of her.

The front wheel of the scooter just inches from the thick plaster toeplate. Auntie’s big foot toes (polished a dark red almost black, as funereal as her mood) were wiggling up and down, a clear sign of her nervousness now almost out of control.

She rolled her eyes and glared at him.

She was on the verge of blurting out, but, resorting to the remotest reserves of patience, she managed to control herself....

Motioning the little boy to step aside, she laboriously 'got back on track'.

But the little cousin insisted, telling her «Auntie, would you like to come for a ride behind me?», ending the question with on of the typical giggles of cheeky kids.

That was the straw that broke the camel's back....

Amid the laughter and general hilarity (even of the professors on the exam board), Auntie's scream, and especially her attempt to grab her little cousin by the throat, went down in the annals of the university.

The image of the 'gentle' auntie who, dropping both crutches to the ground, drags (with an energy unthinkable for a maiden in her condition) the hulking plaster cast pointing straight at her little cousin, five (five!) people being needed to arrest her vengeful impetus, will remain etched in the memory of all those present.

Well, nothing to be done about it: a groin-to-toe plaster cast turns even the most amiable aunties into beasts thirsting for revenge...

You can bet that the relationship between the blonde auntie and her naughty little cousin will never again be as serene and easy-going as it was before...