I got a letter in the mail.
It said I was prequalified.

“Dear Sir, Congratulations! You’re prequalified.”
That meant me.

I thought, “Great, this must be my lucky day.”
So I ran out— found that girl I’d been following around—
and asked her out.

She said, “NO.”

I said, “You’ve gotta be kidding me. I’m prequalified today.”

“What are you talking about,” she asked.

“Right here,” I pulled it out and showed it to her,
holding up the letter that came earlier.

“Oh my,” she exclaimed. “You ARE prequalified.
Thirty Thousand Dollar Credit Limit!”
With that, she changed her mind,
asking me where I’m taking her.

“How about lunch,” I suggested.

She replied, “Hawaii.”

I said, “Great,” and dropped
the prepaid envelope in the mailbox.

Four to Six Weeks Later, after Hawaii,
I got a letter in the mail.
“Dear Sir, I regret to inform
that you are being denied—”

Prequalified doesn’t mean much
at a time like that.
But I still had my 30 grand
credit limit—
and memories of Polynesia;
Her big ass in that blue bikini
while the tide washed in.

written on 12/24/2010 by: Matt Kane