I love Mustard

This is a true story. If you have children you can probably relate




As ham sandwiches go, it was perfection: a thick slab of ham on a fresh bun with crisp lettuce and plenty of expensive, light brown, gourmet mustard. The corners of my jaw aching in anticipation, I carried it to the table in our backyard, picked it up with both hands but was stopped by my wife suddenly at my side.


"Here, hold Johnny (our six-week-old son) while I get my sandwich," she said.


I had him balanced between my left elbow and shoulder and was reaching again for the ham sandwich when I noticed a streak of mustard on my fingers.


I love mustard.


I had no napkin.


I licked it off.


It was not mustard.


No man ever put a baby down faster. It was the first and only time I have sprinted with my tongue protruding. With a washcloth in each hand, I did the sort of routine shoeshine boys do; only I did it on my tongue.




Later, after she stopped crying from laughing so hard, my wife said, "Now you know why they call that fancy mustard . .. ... "Poupon."

I feel for you, aaarrrgggghhhhhh!!!!!!