The Kind of Person I Am

One of the folks who lives in my big, hundred year old house -- a sophomore and dear friend of mine -- just walked up to my room to ask me whether or not I was feeding him dinner tonight, having been given no particular reason to think that I was.

The answer was "Yes."

Now, I had sent an e-mail that he should have gotten telling him that I would feed him (and many other people) dinner tonight, but he hadn't gotten that e-mail. He had come, apropos of nothing but our previous interactions, to check to see if I was making him dinner.

And I was. I am.

Tell me, does the position of "Den Mother" still exist in the world?