So, I am getting ready to walk out of the house Sunday morning for a leisurely bike ride. My wife is sitting in the kitchen, dog in her lap and a cup of coffee in her hand.

She tells me she found a quiz to tell you what state you should move to if you were to move to another state. I nod, chuckle, and continue filling my water bottle.

You see, this is one of the silly Facebook quizzes (if you were a flower, what flower would you be? Or, if you were a venomous rodent, what venomous rodent would you be?). Not as annoying as stupid cat or corny motivational videos, but close.

“I’m going to take this,” she says of the test. Again, I nod, chuckle and buckle up my riding shoes.

Then, she starts going through the questions – What’s your favorite season? What’s your favorite color? How adventurous are you? Etc.

I became mildly interested. I was intrigued enough to delay my ride to hear her result.

Cue a pregnant pause worthy of a reality T.V. program (“and the next contestant to totally waste the judges’ time and be exiled to Siberia is ...”).

You could also toss in a drum roll, ticking clock or the cheesy “waiting music” from a 1970s game show.

Her answer? Hawaii. Really, this Iowa-born Kansas transplant should be living in the Aloha State? In fact, she read, “The Aloha State welcomes you.”

OK, game on. I had to take this quiz myself.

If she’s going to some Pacific island paradise, then I have to one-up her. My ride just got delayed once more (and the temperature outside just got a little warmer).

She reads the questions – What’s your favorite season? What’s your favorite color? How adventurous are you? Etc. I answer them.

While waiting for the results, I joked that I would like my destination to be Oregon or New Mexico, but would probably get Arkansas or North Dakota.

OK, cue the music again. Wait for it, wait for it.

Kansas.

Seriously, if this dyed-in-the-wool Sunflower State native, this Jayhawker, could live anywhere else, it would be Kansas? 

My wife gets Hawaii. I get Kansas.

She gets mai tais and beaches. I get Pabst Blue Ribbon and dried creek beds. 

Don’t misunderstand me, I love this state. I love the vast open plains, the big sky and the rolling hills, but I was hoping for something a little more exotic.

Hey, at least it wasn’t Oklahoma or Nebraska.

As a side note, a couple days later, I took another test over Kansas slang and got a 100 percent. Perhaps I am destined to spend the rest of my life here and I think I’m fine with that.

• Here’s a bonus track for ya, women’s leggings.

Sure, these form-hugging garments do catch a typical guy’s attention from time to time, but it’s probably not because of the patterns and colors.

For me, sadly that is the case now. Any husband, boyfriend or significant other out there whose partner has fallen prey to the cult known as Lularoe feels my pain.

These women are rabid. There are websites, live-streamed broadcasts on Facebook where those selling these leggings, dresses, sweaters and who know what else brain wash customers.

Mysterious packages show up at the front door. There is even a secret code (what in the heck is a “Carly”?).

When it comes to these designs, no subject is out of bounds. Minnie Mouse, super heroes, puppy dogs, flowers, shapes that resemble Victorian parlor furniture and wall paper, and what can best be described as psychedelic Picasso-like amorphous anime characters.

My wife says they are very comfortable and I’m sure they are. I’ve worn leggings once, but I was in the chorus of Rogers and Hammerstein’s “Cinderella” in high school and I don’t remember how they felt.

Seriously, they look very nice, except when they are draped all over the laundry room while drying.

Dale Hogg is the managing editor of the Great Bend Tribune. He can be reached at dhogg@gbtribune.com.