The Mustard Story

[Winger]

Passed to me but I had to share.

I Love Mustard. (This is a true story. If you have children you will
probably relate to this father.)
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 out.
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".