Mustard

You will never look at mustard the same again:

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
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.

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 on my
tongue. Later (after she stopped crying from laughing so hard) my
wife said......"Now you know why they call that mustard..."Poupon."