Spicy mustard

(Editor’s note: This little story arrived at our office via email. It brought quite a chuckle to more than one individual. For those of you parents out there, especially those with infants, heed these words.) I LOVE MUSTARD (This claims to be 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, a fresh bun, crisp lettuce and plenty of expensive, light brown, gourmet mustard. The corners of my jaw were 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. “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 and 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 mustard…”Poupon.'”

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