You’ve never met any celebrities.
Your idea of a traffic jam is ten cars waiting to pass a tractor on the highway.
"Vacation" means driving through Amish Country or going to the State Fair.
You’ve seen all the biggest bands ten years after they were popular.
You measure distance in minutes.
You know several people who have hit a deer.
You have no problem spelling or pronouncing "Terre Haute."
Your school classes were cancelled because of cold.
Your school classes were cancelled because of heat.
You know where all the Yoders live.
You’ve ridden the school bus for an hour each way.
You’ve ever had to switch from "heat" to "A/C" in the same day.
You think ethanol makes your truck "run a lot better."
You know what’s knee-high by the Fourth of July.
Stores don’t have bags, they have sacks.
You see people wear bib overalls at funerals.
You see a car running in the parking lot at the store with no one in it no matter what time of the year.
You end your sentences with an unnecessary preposition. Example: "Where’s my coat at?" or "Who are you gonna go with?"
All the festivals across the state are named after a fruit, vegetable, or grain.
De-tassling was your first job (that’s de-tassling corn for you city folk).
Your idea of a really great tenderloin is when the meat is twice as big as the bun and accompanied only by ketchup and a dill pickle slice.
You say catty-wumpus and kitty-corner.
You install security lights on your house and garage and leave both unlocked.
You think of the major four food groups as beef, pork, beer, and Jell-O salad with marshmallows.
When asked how your trip was to any foreign, exotic place, you say, "It was different."
You consider being called a "Pork Queen" an honor. (Note: My own niece was the Indiana State Fair Queen, so I know this is true.)
You carry jumper cables in your car.
You know what "cow tipping" is.