Emily Grossman

I felt too frumpy for a ninja this year. No, something more reserved would have to do. And since the Community Orchestra's Halloween concert mandated costumes, going as myself was simply not an option. I took a look in the mirror. No, definitely not a ninja.

Let's see, part the hair this way... add a lace trim and a broach, grab this shawl here... Look, it's-- --Emily! Not bad, not bad... I practiced a couple of stiff, intense gazes, and then snapped a self portrait with my digital camera.

Actually, it felt quite comfortable being Emily: all you have to do is simply take the symphony from the violinist and she's already more than halfway there. I could envision myself a few years down the road, after gradually neglecting more and more of my dwindling relationships. I'd drift quite naturally into my own little world, filling up secret blogs with thoughts for no one else to see. All necessary correspondence could be maintained on facebook, and through my colleagues at violinist.com I could continue my string studies. Since I already buy all my supplies on the internet; I could send George in for things like groceries (and while you're at it, pick me up an americano, too). I could even conduct my lessons via webcam--now there's an idea! No, it wouldn't be difficult at all to set everything up so I never had to leave the house. Ever. Again.

Everyone back stage at the Halloween concert complimented my Puritan style and how well it suited me (though some mistook me for Jane Eyre or Hester Prynn). I couldn't disagree with the suitability; I appreciated the way my hair kept its manners the entire day, even through high winds and extreme humidity changes. Plus, black has this wonderful way of disguising lumpy figures, doesn't it? Who needs skinny jeans when I've got this fine floor-length skirt? Surely, with enough frump, you can flatter just about anything! Comfortably content in my costume, I reclined--somewhat properly--on the couch late into the night musing and composing in my undisclosing black skirt and scalp-hugging bun,

With cryptic verse--a Dash--like this
And capital for Emphasis
In time--would Beyond my time
My Voice prove Infinite?

...Eh, maybe not.