It’s 11:08pm, I’m lying in bed, in the dark, watching testimony from the Murdaugh case, which just happens to be that of the attorney Mallory Beach’s parents hired after their 19yo daughter was killed by her drunk 19yo friend, and my phone rings: SHEP. My 19yo son. 

My heart stops. “What’s wrong?!?”

“Momma?” 

“”YES WHAT’S WRONG?!?”

“Hey Momma. Can you please put $1.40 in my account so I can buy some ramen? I only have .60 and I’m real real hungry.”

He can thank this awful trial that I sent him the $1.40 plus a bonus.