A recent comment-based exchange with my NBF Erik (who is doing a very My Name Is Earl-ish list-y thing that I totally love and about which I will blog later) reminded me of one of the jobs I was BEST at, in my teens and twenties.
I made a great beard.

It’s kind of sad that straight gals growing up these days will no longer have the pleasure of being their gay best friends’ prom date (or, if they DO have the pleasure, they won’t be ever-hopeful, like we clueless ’80s girls were, that perhaps somehow, someway, something romantic COULD come out of it all, if the DJ just played the EXACT RIGHT SONG as we danced on the shiny gym floor). Girls today will never get to be the “fake girlfriend” introduced to mom and dad, when the folks would come into town and want to meet their son’s lady love. Today, everyone knows everyone is gay and there is just no need for the fake girlfriend anymore.
Sad, really. In the ’80s, I was often faked out by my gay boyfriends. In the ’90s, I was in on the fake-out of my gay boyfriends’ families. In the 2000s, no one is being faked out and, in a way, that’s just sad. There’s a whole generation of creative, beautiful, wonderful young ladies out there who will never get to play make-believe at that level. I guess it’s good that there’s more good stuff on TV these days. But what on EARTH would I have done with all of that spare time, had I not been such a kick-ass beard for two decades? Man… I could’ve been president!
Ah, just as well. I treasure my memories of planning to have David’s children while we were choreographing his dance number for the school cabaret, being sweetly serenaded by Gary on the ride home from drama/dance camp and believing that meant we were in love, helping John get dressed in drag while telling his girlfriend we were at a movie, and eventually being the opening act for the BoyButante Ball ’95. Wouldn’t trade having been a bearded lady for anything!