Day 24: An Embarrassing Moment

Today's prompt asks to recount my most embarrassing moment.  Described below is one that certainly qualifies.  I preface this short story with the reminder that I'm colorblind and, as such, I don't pay a lot of attention to color. This is not an excuse; just an explanation.

When I was in college, I was dating a girl who lived several hours away. We used to send letters back and forth to each other (this was well before the days of email for the masses) and it was something I looked enjoyed immensely. I loved reading what she sent (her world was very different from mine) and I tried to write every day in return. I'd collect a couple of days' worth of writing and then send it off (postage wasn't cheap then, either). Most of what I wrote recounted the mundane details of college life, but I tried to be creative with it, to make it more interesting and entertaining to read.

In one of these letters, I waxed romantic and wrote her some verse. I'm not much of a poet, even today, but I remember being quite proud of it. In my best imitation of a Shakespearian sonnet, I likened her beauty to the radiance of the sun, her blue eyes to shimmering pools of water--you get the idea. A regular Don Juan was I to be so clever and original. Casanova himself would have been impressed. I sent it off, impatiently awaiting her next letter.

It came after several days, and I pulled it from the mailbox with anticipation. It was thinner than usual, but I didn't think much of it. I opened the envelope and inside the letter was an index card. On it, in her distinctive script, were two words:



They're green.