Yesterday, I had two Pop Tarts (TM) for breakfast, and that was my food for the day, and the floorboard of my car at a quarter of one of them. I don't usually eat lunch, and I thought I'd be able to stop by the house for dinner, but I got distracted by offers of FTP space, and didn't leave until the last minute, when I ran to the church to work at the dreaded Front Desk. It was 7:00.
My mother, bless her perverse little soul, walks up to me and says, "Do you want me to get you some food from upstairs?"
I salivate, crawl forward whining, and otherwise make a pathetic display of hunger and tragedy. Okay, I said "Yeah, that'd be great."
She comes back downstairs with three slightly soggy crackers.
Most mammals feed their young. I guess that stops after age 18 :)