I've been known on more than one occasion to turn to the man in my life with a pitiful face and say: "You, go, hunt, gather." This is his cue that I'm too tired, absorbed in my TV show, or otherwise disinclined to cook and that he should either cook himself or pick up the phone. Today my stomach has been giving me fits and I've spent the better part of the day curled up in a ball in the bathroom or snuggling the remote and nursing a cup of tea. Finally, after a day of moaning and groaning, I turned to him and said: "Hunt, gather." which surprised him as he was expecting me not to want to eat until Monday at the earliest. Sweet man that he is, he masked his surprise and simply asked what I wanted. Upon divining that the mashed potatoes I was craving were not a practical possibility as there were no potatoes in the house, he went and procured some from the grocery store. Sweet, sweet man. If I'm ever pregnant, he'll be great. He has already mastered holding my hair reassuringly while I'm sick and satisfying irrational cravings when I'm not feeling well. Side note, must remember mashed potatoes are awesome on an upset stomach.