Do you know who made you?

For sure, I have seen the invitation. It was an old-fashioned one. A nicely designed envelope with a matching letter. Ornate fond, effective images. But because I hardly get any mail by post these days, but I must have put the envelope at the same stack as where I keep the advertising leaflets and the door-to-door papers. That is how the invitation has escaped my attention. As a result, the whole event of the masked ball never entered my agenda. And what is not in my agenda will most likely not going to happen.

When they ring, I have no idea what is going on. I am in the bathroom and I am about to go to bed. It is not even that late.  It is only a couple of minutes after ten o'clock. But I feel leek sleeping. So I yawn effusively to prove myself I'm right.

From the fact that he or she keeps the bell pressed continuously, it is already clear to me that the visitor is impatient. It makes me annoyed and somewhat angry. I want to put on my bathrobe and go to the front door when a fierce and loud sound is heard. As if a door is pressed with brute force.

Before I can get shocked by the sudden occurrence of vandalism, I hear the sound of heavy shoes ascending the wooden stairs. Along I fully understand what is happening, two stout men are standing close to me. They are dressed in blue overalls. One has short bleached hair. The other has a dark complexion and a stubbly beard. They both smell like gin.

"What is this supposed to be?" I try to sound as brave as possible. However, my protest does not make any sense at all. The men grab me at my upper arms. And while I struggle like a child who refuses going to bed, they drag me downstairs.

It's freezing cold outside. The wind blows along my cheeks like a razor blade. I scream, I cry, I yell. But obviously, the men are not trained as social workers. Unperturbed, they haul me to a minivan and throw me in the backseat.

In the scarce light I notice that the front seats are shielded off with a opaque plastic plate. I feel trapped and realize that only my guards know what my destination will be.

Sooner than expected this is also becomes clear to me. Only after a handful of minutes the van stops abruptly. As if I am being launched I shoot forward and crash hard against the dividing wall. Shortly thereafter I hear the side doors being opened. I'm being dragged out of the car.

"I'm sorry that your arrival could not be more civilized," says a warm voice. I look up to observe the sweet face of a young woman. She is dressed in a long black evening gown. A silver crown shines on her head like birthday candle.

"Do Come in! Be welcome! The party has just begun!" She takes my hand firmly and leads me into a brightly lit room. I am being immersed in a wave of pleasant warmth and comfortable cordiality. The whole room is full of party people. They are all dressed up. Ladies, priests, tramps, shepherds, princesses, pirates, nurses, demons, lumberjacks, sailors, clog makers, girls of pleasure, angels, artists, businessmen and alchemists.

Shortly after those first moments of euphoria, I realize that I am the only one who is not dressed up. Uncomfortable I view the crowd in my underpants and cotton vest. Is that perhaps the reason why I did not take the invitation for this masked ball seriously? Because I do not like fancy dress parties? Because I have no idea which mask I should wear?

The woman who was waiting at the entrance is aware of my struggles. She takes me aside and reassures me. According to her, nobody will take offend of me. Everyone will think that my poor clothing is my own choice. Nobody in this room expects a partygoer who is himself and does not wear a mask.

She is right. As the music grows louder, the drink flows more abundantly, I got immersed into the festivities. That is why you can see me dancing with the demons, laughing with the angels.