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.''
Oh, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. But funny~
Good one Dale! Now one from my own family.
We were all gathered around the Christmas dinner table, just finishing the last of dessert and coffee when my little nephew squeezed down from his seat at the table. He was just under two, talking and going through intensive toilet training. He went down under the table, and came back up with a piece of pumpkin pie that had been dropped there. He placed it on the table and calmly explained,"That's not poop, that's pie!". Well, that was the end of that Christmas dinner, one that will never be forgotten in our family. ;D ;D
LOL ;D