“Oh hey, just to warn you, when I get back from this trip I need to hang some elk meat in the basement to thaw it out,” says my roommate, the avid hunter. "
“Sorry—what? Where in the basement?” I ask. As in the basement where I live, the basement where I do laundry, the basement where I keep ALL OF MY STUFF.
“You know, the main room.”
“Oh.” And how exactly do I complain, seeing as how I’ve eaten elk, pheasant and now grouse, all of which he has killed, cleaned and cooked since I moved in?
“Well there’s no head on it or anything…”
“Well, I’m not sure how else to thaw it out.
“Can’t you just wait till spring?”
“Um, no. That’s not an option”
Pause and copious blinking.
“Does elk meat smell?”
“Does it smell? It’s not going to make my clothes stink, is it?”
“What? No. Not unless it’s rotten."