> > > The Mustard Story (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. 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."