I do love being Southern...

Any time you mix shopping, alcohol, and two Southern women with rather bawdy senses of humor, something fun is bound to happen! That was indeed the case last night when a new friend and I took in the downtown Augusta scene for the evening. It was a special shopping event to attract women downtown, and while it didn't appear to be a rousing success, at least we had a good time. We drank the free booze, did a little shopping, got a free chair massage from an absolutely lovely young man, then ended the evening at a little bar with more free alcohol!

My friend and I propped ourselves up on this long couch along the front window of the bar, wine glasses securely in hand, and began the long-held tradition of telling stories. Not that I plan to share any of them with you here, but you just know the kinds of stories we shared. Those of us both blessed and cursed with Southern heritage do love a good story. Or two. Or twenty, as the case may be. And we all tell the same kinds of stories because we all know the same kinds of people. We pull out family stories and try to out do one another with how crazy our relatives are or how few branches there are in our family trees. We all have at least one crazy aunt or uncle that we "say" we'd rather not discuss, but who is -- in fact -- the source of everyone's gossip at the family dinner table during holidays and will always be welcomed with open arms by his or her Momma, because you know, Momma never stops loving her babies!

We told stories about the ones we got and the ones that got away, of course. And they are always either more handsome and smart and rich than they really were, or they are more despicable and we were more insane to ever find them attractive than we really were, too! Oh, and we watched the people and had a good time with that. Mostly a much younger crowd, it was fun to look at all the girls with their Olympic-level hair flipping and coy looking into one another's eyes that goes on in bars when you're young and nubile and on the prowl. And the young men; ah, the young men. So cute, so virile, so clueless...

Anyway, it was an absolutely lovely evening, and one that made me glad that while I'm still single I am old enough to understand that that kind of hair-flipping these days could result in a series of chiropractor visits next week. And it's difficult to coyly bat one's eyes and appear innocent when you have an AARP card tucked snugly into your wallet. The young men are still quite cute, but it is a little difficult to take them seriously when you know you have sweaters in your closet older than they are.

So, for now I just bask in the glow of a lovely evening, content with the knowledge that those kinds of evenings are never out of reach as long as you have good friends, a few bottles of wine, and enough crazy relatives to keep the stories flowing.