"Hey, I need you to do me a favor."

I hate it when he starts a sentence like that. I pull the phone from my ear and roll my eyes. Here we go.

His problems easily and logically (in his mind) become my problems. For instance, when he puts a deer head in my chest freezer, I know it will become my problem. And it does. The freezer dies and the deer head rots. I tell him that there is no way I am opening that freezer. If he wants the rack, he'll have to get it himself. I take a stand. I rarely do that.

When his friend comes to haul the freezer away, he says, "Justin told me to get that head out of the freezer."

You've got to be kidding.

"No, no." I say. "It will be terrible, really, just leave it."

But he's a hunter. At that point, the head is tossed onto the snow in my front yard. There are no adequate words to describe the smell. I won't even try.

Justin isn't due home for three more days and there's no way I can leave a slushy, semi-liquid deer head stew in my front yard. Yes, it is now my problem. As I grasp the antler, the hide slides off the skull. I shovel the rotted flesh into a garbage bag. The head and all of its gooey components are moved to the backyard. I tie a rope around the antler and run it up a tree.

Wrathful does not begin to cover my emotional state. I decide not to mention anything to Justin until I can compose myself.

It takes the full three days.

"Hey, I need you to do me a favor." Rings out of the phone again.

"Yeah? What's that?" Oh please, let it be easy.

"I need you to pick up my dry cleaning."

"Dry cleaning? Sure, no problem."

"Thanks. Gotta go, bye."