You know, this whole Alphabet Construct was supposed to help me post more often, but it really turned out to be Not So Very Helpful After All. I'm glad I'm almost done; the Alphabet was starting to feel like The Boss Of Me, and you all know how I feel about that.
Let's jump into this Y Post and I have to tell you, like Certain Persons In The Politics, I have nothing prepared. I'm winging it, composing at the keyboard, hoping The Muse shows up as I go. The difference between us is, Oh hell. There are a ton of differences. Let's not, as they say, Go There.
Y1: Yvonne de Carlo, aka Lily Munster. Here is a photo, for your reference:
Now, for those of you who know/remember/imagine what I look like, just superimpose my face on there because that is exactly what my hair is starting to look like, much to my dismay. My grey is now appearing in huge swathes against my almost-black hair, which I am growing out because I have A) no regular stylist, and B) chronic indifference/sloth. Thank heavens that I do not wear pancake makeup, eye shadow, or lipstick, or it would be Halloween year 'round at the Dept., and you all know how I feel about that "holiday." Ugh.
Y2: Yarn. As in the stuff one knits with. I'm not going to bore all of you non-knitters, I promise. Just let me say that not one single Knitting Person warned me that, once I began knitting, a chemical receptor in my brain would be switched to the On position, and I would become almost pathological in my urge to amass yarn. I'm not even a Good knitter, mostly a Therapeutic one (for my hand arthritis), but I keep looking at and feeling the need to buy/acquire yarn. I have declared a Personal Yarn Moratorium until...Forever. Which is how long it will take me to use up what I now have.
Y3: Yardwork. I was at a party over the summer, and as part of an icebreaker game, we were asked to write one sentence about ourselves on a slip of paper. Each sentence would then be read aloud, and the guests would all guess at who wrote it. One person wrote I love yardwork. My first reaction was Holy Crap. What is wrong with that person? My second reaction was I have got to get the name of that person and see if he/she wants to come work in my yard! Because, honestly, the second part of the word yardwork is WORK. And, remember, I am retired. Yardwork, to me, sounds like something on a prison duty roster. "Okay, Detweiler, this week you've got yardwork. Make sure the inmates don't huddle up in groups larger than three, and watch out for contraband. And stay on top of the litter situation."
Y4: Yams VS. Sweet Potatoes. I still don't care about which is which, and I never ever will. I call them all sweet potatoes because I hate the word Yams. I hate to say it; I sound terrible saying it. Maybe it's what my late friend Ann from Orlando, Florida, called my flat NEO "accent", but when I say it, it sounds like I can't stop the vowel sound soon enough; like I'm trying to draw it out: Yaaaaaams. Let me assure you; I'm not. Besides, sweet potatoes sounds nicer.
Okay! I made it through. I'm back. And I can't wait to hear about your Y Words or your comments on mine.