Masquerade

Masquerade

My dove white dress shimmer’s brilliantly in the moonlight.  Conveniently, it is strategically placed to allow a partial view of my cleavage, and shapely legs.  Around my neck are shiny trinkets, designed to attract attention.

With this, they’ll think I belong.

My blonde curls now sit firmly tied into a loose yet immaculate bun.  It took the hairdresser four hours and nearly one thousand dollars from my bank account.  A pristine hair style shows you care – or at least that’s what my mother used to say.

They’ll think I care.

The distinct dark brown eye shadow that covers most of my eyelids, framed with a distinct white shimmer eyeliner and black, waterproof mascara; distracts from the moody colour of my usually crystal blue eyes. 

They’ll never know the truth.

Concealer, foundation and bronzer; wiped liberally over my cheeks, hides the tear stains that had spread down from my eyes, down my cheeks and settled on the base of my chin. 

They will never see.

Marilyn Monroe 608, crimson red lipstick coated over my lips, draws people’s attention to the pout of my full bodied lips.  One can never forget the most important addition, a dazzling smile. 

They’ll think everything is fine – the trick is to let them.

I will go through tonight, with not a single person coming up to me and asking if I am feeling alright.  When politely asked, how I am, I will simply smile –and immediately comment on the artist’s talent of the painting I will have spent minutes staring at vacantly. In most cases I will make it up on the spot. 

We both know the dance.

This will distract them, and they will continue my conversation on the talent of the artists – to which I will offer an intelligent response based on the Google search I ran on the artists from this gallery, just before coming out tonight.

The trick is to be prepared.

This will satisfy them, and they will move on and mingle with other members at the art opening.  I will repeat this process about seven times before finally allowing myself to catch a taxi home.  Finally, once I reach the safety of my bed, I will collapse and break down into a fit of tears, eventually crying myself to sleep. 

My mask is perfect.  Each decoration on my mask is specifically crafted to keep people from knowing the truth – and with it, I can dance through any masquerade.