She was right that he hadn't been particularly willing to do the show. He'd done it because it was the only option he'd seen at the time. He could be, as Peggy had so aptly put it, either a lab rat, or a circus monkey. He'd chosen the monkey, because at least then, he'd be out doing some form of good for the war effort. It had gotten him to Europe, where he'd finally been able to show he could do so much more, at least. He'd been able to do it at the time with good grace, because he'd known it was the only way he could help - and after the first few shows, he was a little ashamed to admit that the cheering crowds had boosted his ego, and he'd begun to enjoy himself. If he performed the same show now, however, he was sure everyone would just be laughing at the entire thing, how dated and archaic it would seem to them, and it would be like performing for the 107th all over again.

"Oh, God," he groaned, now imagining her watching something he'd done and laughing at it. "It was ridiculous," he tried explaining to her. "The acting - well, there wasn't really any acting, it was just reciting lines and trying to look like we had any idea what being in war was really like. It was awful." He could not emphasize enough how truly bad it was.