I Love Mustard…
As ham sandwiches go, it was perfection: a thick slab of ham on fresh bread with crisp lettuce, lots of cheddar cheese and plenty of that 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 and was about to bite down into sandwich heaven… when I was suddenly stopped by my wife, who handed our six-week-old son to me.
“Here. Hold Johnny while I go get my sandwich,” she said.
And so, there I stood with Johnny — impatient to get to my sandwich, but wanting to prove myself to be the perfect husband and father. 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 sticking out. I jammed the garden hose in my mouth and turned in on full force for a good five minutes.
Later, after she stopped crying from laughing so hard, my wife said, “Now you know why they call that fancy mustard ‘Poupon.’”
