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| Blogs > hereforyou6217 > A Charming Wreck |
The mustard incident
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The mustard incident So I learned something last weekend, while I was at that competition. I went to lunch, and even though I don't eat meat all that much anymore, I felt like having a hamburger. So dammit, I was gonna have a hamburger. Call me crazy, but I like some condiments on my burger. A little ketchup, a little mustard. A little, I say. So I take my burger and I put it under the little mustard pump (mustard pump, by the way, is now totally going to be the name of my kick-ass air band power pop trio), and I push down on the little pump thing. Nothing happens. This should've been clue one. I push a little harder. Again, nothing. I stand there for a moment, cock my head to the side in much the manner of a slightly confused cocker spaniel. Any sane man would've stopped at this point, but considering no one here would ever accuse me of much in the way of sanity, I did what the insane man would've done. I pushed that handle down just as hard as I could. The splatter was, in a word, glorious. Well, I'll say this for it-- I was able to get some mustard on my burger. And my formerly white polo shirt. And my arms. And my face. And the nylon jacket of the girl standing next to me. I just stood there, probably for a full five seconds. I mean, what do you do in this situation? What can you say? My mouth hung open and I just stood there, stunned. Then I turned to the girl next to me, saw the small splatters of mustard on the arm of her jacket. "Oh, my god. My god. I'm so sorry." She was cool about it. I helped clean her up-- it helped that she was wearing a nylon jacket-- and then I turned around to face the table where my friends were sitting. My friends, who had been chatting amongst themselves, until I turned around and said, "well... that was interesting." "My god," my wife said. "You look like you got shot, and you bled mustard." And it was true... there was one HUGE splat of mustard right in the center of my chest, with little spatters everywhere else. It was like Jackson Pollack used me as a canvas. I sat down, still a little dazed. That's when I realized that I'd forgotten the ketchup. I got up, walked back to the condiment station, put my bun under the pump, and gently pushed down. It didn't want to move. I started to push a little harder, but then I realized what I was getting into, and reached carefully for one of the ketchup packets that was sitting in a nearby basket. I might be dumb, but even I'm not that dumb. |
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Thanks for todays GRIN!
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[font face='comic sans ms']What? No one offered to lick it off?[/font} Have tongue, will use it. Repeatedly.
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 Yeah, I'm still [blog 1hotwahine]
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Mustard on white......damn, might as well just dye it yellow now. Hmmm.....suddenly thinking a real man probably shouldn't know that. I need to go do something manly like change the oil in my wife's car. Now, where did I put those heavy gloves to keep my hands clean?  If you should die before me, ask if you can bring a friend........
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 but it had to suck bigtime  good thing it was nylon mustard stains.
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4/21/2007 1:24 pm |
Hey Sweetie, Sorry that happened to you. Email me sometime .
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