Subject: Mustard
From: Unicorn (unicorn@indenial.com)
Date: Sun Nov 05 2000 - 00:42:39 EST
"Small Children"
Trying to dress an active little one is like trying
to thread a sewing machine while it's running.
There are only two things a child will share
willingly: communicable diseases and their
mother's age.
Cleaning your house while your kids are at
home is like trying to shovel the driveway
during a snowstorm.
Kids really brighten a household; they never
turn off any lights.
An alarm clock is a device for waking people
up who don't have small kids.
Shouting to make your kids obey is like using
the horn to steer your car, and you get about
the same results!
Any child can tell you that the sole purpose
of a middle name is so he can tell when he's
really in trouble.
***********************************
"Mustard" (A LadyHawke's Favorite)
(This is a true story. If you have children you will
probably 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-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.'"
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