Poop’s On!….
July 19th, 2005
(or, ‘Hold the Mustard!!!’)
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 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.”