In a small town where not only our food is southern style, but our people are too there is no escape from the criticisms and chastisment of others.

If you are not apart of the southern draw, sweet tea and cowboy boots you are simply a yuppie.

If you don't follow basketball, "Are you from Indiana?"

If you don't like country music, "Are you from the city?"

I have apologized too many times for having never been hunting, four wheeling, jigging or mudding.

I have lived in the bible belt of the south my entire life and even my classmates still whisper under their breathe, "Yuppie."

I am wholeheartedly a Yuppie if that is what my fellow southerners want to call me.

But just because I don't fit in doesn't mean I am not human.

I am a human just like a cowboy boot wearing, belt buckled southern belle.

I am a human just like a inner city detroit, box braided girl.

I am simply different.

Different doesn't mean I flawed.

I hum Frank Sinatra and blare Ella Fitzgerald through my stereo while every radio station plays the same country anthem.

I am fine with being called Yuppie Girl as long as it means I am myself.

There are so many people who follow the crowd just so they can be accepted.

But here I stand alone in a crowd of people who only cast down judgement on those who don't monogram their initials on every t-shirt they own.

I like my dark wash jeans with holes in the knees. 

I like my dad's flannel shirts with the paint splatters on the back.

I like feeling comfortable and like I am protraying myself inside and out.

I am a Yuppie and proud.

I am a free flowing pattern against their rebel flag attitude.