If you have children you willprobably
relate to this father. The names have been changed
to protect the dignity of the 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 aching in
anticipation, I carried it to the picnic 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-oldson) 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 streakof 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 downfaster. 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.'"
[When you stop laughing, pass it on!]
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