I love mustard. I’ll put it on anything. The tangy, twang that makes my face perspire simply cannot be matched by any other condiment–not even mayo. Now I’m not saying that mayo isn’t good stuff, it is. I’m just saying that I rather have mustard on all my sandwiches. Is that a crime? Well, it seems to be around this neck of the woods. Where I come from, mayo rules. The people I know put mayo on everything–from scrambled eggs to steak sandwiches. I mean, really. That’s just gross. The heat from cooked eggs makes mayo a runny and nasty mess.
I had a male friend who put mayo on oatmeal. Can you imagine? Okay. So what’s with me talking about mayo and mustard today? There was a big thing around my house last night about which is better. I know. We’re pretty pathetic, right? But you see, the boyfriend was making a late night snack, and he put heaping spoonfuls of mayo on his sandwich. I was completely grossed out and told him so. But did he care? Nooo. He looked me right in my face as he gleefully took a monster bite of his sandwich and then laughed when the mayo squirted out from his bread and landed all over the table. AND it was all over his mouth. I don’t have to tell you what it looked like. And he knew it bothered me so he began chewing with his mouth open, displaying the most grotesque mess one could witness.
Gosh, I have so much writing to do, but I couldn’t let this go without an honorable mention–kind of like when I keep talking about nose pickers . . . Oops. Did I mention that again??