You don't drink beer in Mayberry

Friday night Bud and I drove down to Marion, AL for a one night trip to see friends and go to a birthday party. A couple we knew in Blacksburg moved to Alabama a few months before we did and of course after we all made plans to hang out every few weekends (because? we're only going to be an hour or so apart!) we made it down there after 7 months of living an hour apart. We thought they maybe didn't really want to be our friends anymore until I got an email from one of them inviting us out to a birthday party and to see their new house. Which is awesome. Because they live in a small town, they could afford actual real estate - a two story house built in the 1920's with three bedrooms, old glass in the windows and hard wood floors. After getting there, we walked a few houses down to the neighbors party and the whole time, I'm not kidding, I mentally pinched myself because...I had traveled back in time 50 years. I don't know how to say this without sounding totally weird, but I really felt like I had entered a time machine. Their neighbors and friends were all milling around the porch and front rooms (of an equally enviable house) sipping on wine or beer and talking about things like, "yeah, you know the Porter house? Well, old man Porter has decided to finally sell that land to the new family in town. You know them, they're the new family,". Kids ran in and around our legs yelling, chasing fireflies and probably saying things like, "swell!" We met all the neighbors, drank some beer, said we'd enjoyed meeting all the neighbors, drank some more beer and then, predictably, it was just us, the house owners and our friends - three youngish couples hanging out on a porch in Mayberry. The local college security officer actually rode up on his bike for a bite to eat. Yes he did. We drank more beer. And then ate birthday cupcakes and finally stumbled home around midnight. I think what finally jolted me back to reality was waking up the next morning (bleary eyed and worse for the wear) with a giant streak of chocolate frosting on my cheek staring back at me in the mirror. Ah, definitely something June Cleaver might find after a long night.