This is how I will know (if he really loves me)

Mike and I are sitting in the glow of our computer screens on our respective couches, depressed at the thought of dropping almost half a grand for plane tickets to Georgia for Christmas. So, not only does he have to venture south of the Mason-Dixon to meet my tobacco chewing, y'all saying, Southern Baptist brood, but he has to dig a little hole of debt to do so.

I think I finally found the answer to Whitney's question.