just because I love your booze doesn't mean I don't love you too

Last month my friend Amanda celebrated her 33rd birthday (oh how I wish our birthdays synched up better so that I could be 45 at the same time she's 33), and we ended up at her friend Jesse's house, pretty late, after a party at the Cadillac Lounge. "...And then there were four" sort of a situation, soon to be "and then there were three." Jesse asked if I wanted anything to drink, and I asked if he had any bourbon. He pulled out like a dozen bottles of esoteric bourbon, and I selected a rare sweet mash. "Is it wrong," I asked, turning to Amanda, "to fall in love with someone for their booze collection?" Probably, but I'm still not convinced of it. Damn those metro straight boys!