Y is for

(Sorry I missed a day…got behind)

Yorkshire

Yolanda stared at Terrence, giving him the old yellow-eye as Mama used to call it.  Yeah, that’s right, she thought,  you might be a big man, but you respect a woman with that look in her eye.

“You better not be thinking you can go treating me like a Yorkshire–some dumb animal you can pet and then kick around just ’cause I’m smaller than you.”

Terrence made that face, the one that said she was being stupid, though he would say absurd.  “Yolanda, it’s 1986.  Men don’t act that anymore.  Hell, my friends call me a yuppy.  You think a yuppy treats his girl like that? ”

“It’s just you said you want me cleaning up, getting everything ready for when you get home.  What’s that all about?  You think I’m some kind of Yugoslav house slave?  I’m supposed to be waiting on you, listening for your yell?  Is that what you think?”

“Honey, you missed half my call–stupid cell phone, it’s supposed to have a whole hour of battery life, but it shuts off every time I call you.”

“Mister, your lies flow like the Yukon.”

“I wasn’t telling you to clean up.  I said pack up.  We’re going to the Yucatan Peninsula.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Yolanda fairly dove into Terrence’s arms.  “Yipee!”

 

— david j.

 

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