I have one hard and fast rule from which I never, ever deviate. No matter how compelling or earnest the entreaty or convincing the argument, I refuse to be swayed.
When someone asks me to "Smell this"? I. Will. Not. Do. It.
In fact, when I go to work I will spend 8 hours (or more) breathing through my mouth. Only when I am safely in my car will I take a deep breath through my nose.
I hate foul smells almost as much as I hate raw chicken. I can't help it, but I'd rather deal with most of the guts, gore and bodily fluids from any orifice, natural or man-made, than handle raw chicken.
I don't know when it started, but if I have to cut up chicken I can't eat it. These days I can't tolerate any chicken I buy unless it is already cooked. Oh, I like chicken well enough and I don't have any problem with eggs. There is just something sooooooooo gross to me about slimy, nasty raw chicken in a package.
Things I would rather do than handle raw chicken:
put live lobsters in a pot of boiling water
put worms on a hook
(can you tell I grew up on the ocean?)
I have a point, I promise.
Given my phobia of raw chicken and intense dislike of foul smells, you can probably understand why I went just a little apeshit when Mr. Ednursasauras took a package of chicken out of the fridge and said,