heycods
Captain
- Joined
- Nov 11, 2005
- Messages
- 3,941
I Love Mustard. (This is a true story. If you have children you will probably relate to this father.)<br /><br />As ham sandwiches go, it was perfection: a thick slab of ham on a fresh bun with crisp lettuce and<br />plenty of expensive, light brown, gourmet mustard. The corners of my jaw aching in anticipation, I carried it to<br />the table in our backyard, picked it up with both hands but was stopped by my wife suddenly at my side.<br /><br />"Here, hold Johnny (our six-week-old son) while I get my sandwich," she said.<br /><br />I had him balanced between my left elbow and shoulder and was reaching again for the ham<br />sandwich when I noticed a streak of mustard on my fingers.<br /><br />I love mustard.<br />I had no napkin<br />I licked it off.<br />It was not mustard.<br /><br />No man ever put a baby down faster. It was the first and only time I have sprinted with my tongue<br />protruding. With a washcloth in each hand, I did the sort of routine shoeshine boys do; only I did it on my tongue.<br /><br />Later, after she stopped crying from laughing so hard, my wife said, "Now you know why they call that fancy mustard . . . "Poupon."
