My grandma has a bottle of blackberry brandy in the fridge. She often thinks it's wine and offers it at dinner (or really any time she sees it). The other night we actually drank some. This blackberry brandy is 70 proof. It tastes sort of like super sweet cough syrup with a nice little burn that tickles down your throat. It's strong, people!
Grandma poured herself a pretty sizable swig and then said, "Oh, I don't normally drink so much. I don't think I can finish this..."
I said, "I'll drink some with you."
She took another cup out of the cabinet and put it on the table. I'm thinking she'd pour from her glass, but she went straight back to the bottle for my glass.
As we ate dinner, she kept commenting on how much she'd poured and how it was more than her usual.
While I got started on the dishes, she brought her glass over. Empty. She had polished off that whole sucker!
"Whoa, Grandma! You finished that whole thing?"
"Yeah. Woooo, I can feel it."
"Go sit down, I'll finish the dishes."
"You're right. I better sit down before I fall down! I don't usually drink this much, you know."
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