French Poem Tea Towel Embroidery, Day 6

I've come to a decision on the tea towels, and my decision is this:  These tea towels, once completed, will not be gifted to my best friend.  My "handiwork" on the embroidery is so atrocious, so embarrassing, so offensive to the eyes, that to present these pieces to Miss BFF as tokens of friendship would cause such a strain to our relationship, that I must vow to hide them from her for all eternity. 

I must also apologize to all French speakers everywhere, for what my stitching, nay, butchering, has done to your beautiful words would, in times past, most certainly have sent me to the guillotine.

It is not just the uneven stitch length that is scandalous, not just the abuse of the threads themselves, done with such manhandling that the strands have lost definition to such a point that they've returned to the fluffy texture of their beginnings, but also the absolute lack of control with the needle placement have lead the threads to lie in such a compressed manner that the words have no clarity.  The language of Rostand, de Maupassant, and Voltaire, reduced to mere blobs on my fabric.

It is for these reasons that I must keep these tea towels with me, to be hidden from the rest of the world, and perhaps to do nothing more than to line the bottom of the drip pan.  I do this in the name of friendship.