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".


    When you stop laughing, pass it on.