The Beard

I hadn’t seen Gwen, the Cappie, in a long time. I didn’t really think anything of it, until Matty, my personal biographer, mentioned he was commissioned to write the script for the new Captain America movie.

"Jesus," I thought, "I haven’t heard from Gwen in a while."

I called her and we agreed to meet at a coffee shop. When I got there, I was stunned: she looked exactly like she did before I had given her her make-over. This was somewhat distressing. I needed an explanation, simply for my own edification, if anything else.

"I was tired of being your beard."

"My beard?"

"You know, a woman used by a gay man to--"

"I know what it is. What gave you the impression I was gay?"

"You and that Norwegian friend of yours."

"Mads, my Norwegian companion?"

"Yeah. Don’t pretend you don’t have anything going on."

I couldn’t convince her otherwise: she was adamant that I was a homosexual. There was no real reason for me to hide my gay lifestyle if in fact I had one, but that wasn’t enough for her. I left her at the cafe, wearing the gross guy jeans and over-sized shirts she had on when I first met her all those years ago. C’est la vie.