He came home after a long day at the bakery, particularly tired and having had to deal with pricks, he was not in a good mood. He would never take it out on Rose, of course, because that just wasn't Andrew. But he didn't want to eat her food... not that night anyway. He would suck it up, but he just didn't want to. The smell of cooking fish permeated the air and promised for a good time, but he knew better. Oh did he know better? He curled his upper lip and scraped lightly at it with his bottom teeth, then swallowed heavily.

After girding his loins, he went to the kitchen, only to find his wife in a state of slight duress and the kitchen a mess. He frowned, "What's wrong, love?" he asked softly, pretending to ignore the mess as he approached her and knelt down so he could look into her eyes. He very well knew it had something to do with the food. Maybe she was on to him that he didn't enjoy her cooking.