I'm drinking vodka shots in my kitchen. Measuring carefully and keeping track.
The same brand my Mom drank when she had extra cash. That's how I could tell. No point asking for video games when Burnett's was under the sink.
She always mixed with the weirdest things. And here I am with my jigger tasting Swedish craftsmanship in its pure form as it dribbles down my bathrobe.
I bought it on a whim at a liqueur store I rarely passed. The tag on the shelf said it was on sale while the cashier disagreed. To much trouble to pick another bottle.
I suppose I was feeling rich.