Over the river and through the woods to our second date we go...

This is going to sound ridiculous either way I spin it, so I'm just going to come right out and say it.

Probably the largest fight Seth and I have ever gotten into was over whether or not Wisconsin has hills. Like big hills.

Well. That wasn't the main point of the argument. But it was the starting point. And boy did it snowball from there.

While we both apologized profusely, the stubborn Irish girl in me was bound and determined to hear the words, "yes, Wisconsin has big hills" falling beautifully out of Seth's mouth.

So I took him to the only really big hill I know of. Holy Hill.

I didn't tell him where we were going. Just that I was about to cash in and get the, "Yes honey, you're right" look and that we were going to a BIG hill. A big hill that might even score brownie points with his mom.

Winding through the countryside, regretting my low-maintenance, high-fat, gastrointestinally unfriendly lunch choice, panic began to set in.

What if it backfired? What if he thought I was the weird church girl that of all places-- took him to a basilica and then asked him to walk the stations of the cross with her-- in his mere 60 hours in the state of Wisconsin? What if I was making a major Catholic faux pas-- turning a visit to a religious shrine into a date?! Was lightning going to strike from above? The voice of God inform me that I would now be single and alone forever? Where were my quarters so I could light some vigil candles and take it all back?!

And then it appeared. And the phrase rolled off his tongue, "Yes Wisconsin has big hills." He pulled out his phone to call his mom. His camera to document the view from the basilica. Instead of mittens we were holding hands to keep warm, walking through the woods among the snow and the twigs and the stations.

I would say the angels sang. But then again, it could've been one of the Discalced Carmelite Friars.