American Day

Lunch? Hot dog.
Dinner? Pizza.
Dessert? Ice cream.

OK, I take that back. It wasn’t ice cream. It was sorbet. Yes: I eat sorbet and drink lattes and (wish) I dri(o)ve a Volvo.

(Scratch that. I drove a Volvo to Wyoming. It was radically uncomfortable. I wouldn’t buy a Volvo. I’d buy a Mini. Or a Saab. One of the old ones that looks like an egg. Maybe the old Saab is the new old Volvo.)

…Does that make me a yuppie? (young urban p(p)rofessional + (e))

Except I’m not “a professional” anymore. I’m still “professional” but no one’s paying me for it anymore, so the noun’s migrated to an adjective.

Since no one’s paying me for anything at all, the noun is “Emma.”

Yuemma.
Yemma?
Yu(e)mmmm(a).
Pronounced “Yummmm…(ah!)”