Put down your sandwich...here comes the joke!

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.'"