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I introduced Scott to small-town Georgia today. Having previously spent less than thirty-six hours in my old turf, he's had some eye-opening.

First of all, you know you're in a small town when you go to the post-office and say to the guy at the counter, "Hi, I'm here to pick up my Mom's mail" and he replies, "Sure! Your aunt came by earlier and nothing was in yet, which is real unusual for ya'll, so I'll just go check." And then he does.

Then later when you're coming back from dinner in Helen and your Mom barely stops at a stop sign in the middle of nowhere and the cop pulls you over, and she says, "I'm sorry, I was just talking" and the cop says, "Oh well, we'll let ya go this time" and then he does. [Mom added that we had a yankee in the back and he was real impressed and the copy said he might write us up after all, but he was cracking up.] [FYI Scott is one of the good ones.]

We are ridiculously overfed and happy. If an Operative asked me what my sin was, I'd totally have to go with gluttony this week.

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