Dramatic performance

My neighbor was snoring. You never expect this of the young and the beautiful, but there it was: horrific croaking coming from the nasal cavity of a blonde with the profile fit for a Grecian urn. I tried to keep my eyes on the musicians and my ears attuned to the performance, but eventually I developed a strong suspicion that the first violinist was eying my neighbor with eyes green of anger and only extreme professionalism kept her from dashing across the proscenium and stuffing her bow through the mouth of the second row predator. The music went BRAMS and BA-BACH but my neighbor, with her head lying almost perpendicular to her body on the back of her chair, was oblivious to all. HRUH-HRUCHH. HRUH-HRARCH. Her luscious hay-colored hair spilled all over the velvet seat cushion. In the dimmed light of the Symphony Hall, her skin looked like it was carved out of marble, and the open mouth revealed a set of picture-perfect incisors and canines. She would've been a great bite model for the new orthodontic treatment commercial I had been envisioning. HRUH-HRAH-ARGHH. I exchanged glances with the first violinist. Mute, she was begging me to do something. I turned to my neighbor again with the view of gently tapping her on the shoulder, and suddenly noticed that she was staring at me. Her pupils were partially visible through the narrow slits of her eyelids, yet her head remained strangely contorted. Her upper lip moved. SHEEEH. I screamed.