We actually don’t even care if she knows the difference between a Manhattan and a Sazerac, or if she can pour a draft beer without a bunch of foamy head. She could pour gin and water in a glass and call it a Sweet Home and we’d be down. With her behind the bar lookin’ like this, hell, she can just forego the glass entirely, splash it in our face and step back, and we wouldn’t even notice. We’re drunk on boobs, and gettin’ the spins. But in a good way.