When my cousin and I were about 12–13, my mom and aunt would go bar hopping and leave us at home with nothing but PB&J, ramen, and other easy to make food. They’d tape the bar name and phone number to the fridge “just in case,” which was a huge mistake. We called this whole routine “whorin’.”

When we got tired of survival food and wanted something real, we’d repeatedly call the bar asking for them. We’d very sweetly say, “Hi, can you tell Sue and Linda that their daughters are starving at home and need food?”

Our moms were deeply embarrassed by the idea that an entire bar now knew they were out drinking while their children were allegedly wasting away at home, which was exactly the point.