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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Travel · #2290048
And a lot of it leaving her high and dry
Nithya's sigh was obviously meant to be heard and responded to. Dutiful older sister that she was, Divya heard it and responded.

"What's put a damper on your sunny nature?" she asked.

"Now this."

"Now what?"

"Fifteen forms I've filled already, and here they tell me I've left out ..."

"So you have your sweet sixteenth form." Divya deftly flicked the paper out of her sister's grasp and glanced at it. "Declaration that –" she could not finish her sentence. The laugh was sudden and loud.

When she had stopped guffawing, Divya gasped, "Is this for real, or is someone pulling your leg?"

"The crazy part is, it's for real. It's a rule there."

"That no one, of any gender or nationality, wear, upon its sacred soil, heels higher than 2.3"?

"Yes, it's a real rule. No high heels for anyone."

"But ..."

"Something about the way the roads are tarred. Or maybe it's the way the toads are reared - or something. I didn't understand very well. But I have to fill this declaration and get it countersigned by a qualified practitioner."

"A qualified practitioner of what?"

"A cobbler, actually. A cobbler has to measure every heel I'm going to travel with and stick a sticker with his signature on it and give me a letter listing all the footwear he has examined."

With many chuckles, Divya helped Nithya trace all the shoes she was going to carry with her. Tennis shoes for when she played squash. Flip-flops for the beach. Sandals for casual wear. Good evening shoes for party wear.

"Shoe-be-do-shoe-be-do," Divya hummed as each pair went into the tote bag. Nithya, exhausted by the exasperation she had already experienced, didn't expostulate.

They walked to the corner cobbler.

"Ah yes," he said, glancing at the form. "The two point three inch rule, I am familiar with it. Now ..."

It was the evening pair that caused the problem. The heels were exactly 2.3". "It says BELOW. If they had been one milimeter shorter ..."

"So saw them," Divya piped up, to her sister's horror.

"Saw up my evening shoes?"

"You only need one em-em less."

"Not by sawing. Listen, doesn't 2.3 count as below 2.3?"

"Afraid not."

The next recognised cobbler was in the next town.

"I can't take a day off work," Divya said. "You'll have to do the one solo."

But it was to no avail. Nithya, excitable in her exhaustion now, exhaled extenively as she explained: "He wouldn't sign either. He said not if our guy didn't sign."

"Leave those behind. Your casual sandals are nice, wear them for parties."

"WHAT?"

"Okay, okay, buy something suitable."

"BUY? But these are a gift from ..."

Some big sisters really do help solve problems. Divya said Nithya could borrow her party shoes. They were 2.1", so all was happy again.

Till the next day, that is.

When Nithya came back with another form. This time to say she would not carry alcohol in any form on the flight. Which means, not even in her bloodstream, or pee, or phlegm. She ha to agree to get tested just before boarding.

"You'll need to stop drinking 48 hours before," Divya warned her.

She did stop drinking 48 hours before.

She didn't stop eating pizza, though. In fact, she had pizza upon arriving at the airport, early for her test.

The test results came in a half hour before the flight. There was a huge red 'R' for REJECTED across her form. She ran from pillar to post (well, airconditioned office to airconditioned office) and the flight took off without her.

To cut a long story short, it turned out that her system had reacted with mozzarella. Traditional mozzarella is fermented with cultures and these sometimes mix with the body's chemistry to make it appear as though there has been an intake of alcohol.

"We're sorry. We should've made you fill the cheese form," the Head of Airlines finally declared. "We'll put you on the next available flight, free, and give you hotel accommodation till then."

"When's the next available flight?"

"On Tuesday."

Nithya enjoyed her two-day hotel stay, even without pizza or alcohol.

Having got rather fond of her, though, the chef did put rather a lot of rum in the farewell cake he plied her with just before she said goodbye.
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