It has been awhile since I last blogged for myself and it feels good to return to Blogger to begin again.
This time, however, I will not be blogging under a complete pseudonym, merely a bare mask. Think of this as the grand ballroom in which a masquerade ball is held. Some of you know me, or think that you do, but you can't be one hundred percent certain because of the feathered mask pinned over my eyes. It is black, like my hair, with a few purple dyed plumes puffed up to offer height to my short stature. I have gone the extra mile with my lined makeup and the shadow-play of color, but the brown eyes peering up at you as we dance are completely natural. My lips smile at your humor, the only additive a slight gloss, which tastes sweet to my tongue tracing over the lower lip before biting back a retort; a lady must mind her manners, especially at such a sensuous soiree.
The music picks up and my skirt lifts as I twirl away. Yes, I can dance in these heels. Why does this bother so many people? Why is it hard to believe that a young woman with plenty to offer a man would want to sharpen her brain with wit and knowledge? I have danced with many partners and have found that most would prefer me barefoot, with child, tending the cooking. I have even been told, to my face, that my skill at problem solving and my ingenuity were a shock - because he had assumed that I, as a young woman, had been hired for my looks.
Halt the orchestra, let the partners stumble in the sudden silence.
Yes, this is who I am. And I am here to stay. It feels damn good to be home again.