Those of you who know me know that I seriously dislike (read: despise or abhor) mustard.
It’s the smell. Oh, and the taste.
And while it’s not always been easy – as mustard is pretty darn ubiquitous – I’ve managed to keep it out of my mouth for the most part, save a vinaigrette now and again.
But life hasn’t always been this sunny.
And today, I confronted my demons.
When I was a kid, my mother used to make doctored baked beans. That means that she took a can of Heinz and added stuff to it to make it taste better. Or so she said. When directly confronted, she told me that there was no mustard used in the creation of this delicacy.
But it tasted like mustard to me. And one day I caught her.
Fast forward a bit and there’s the crab imperial. Another denial, but I knew better. There was definitely mustard in that dish. No doubt.
Today, more than 35 years later, I told her I knew what she’d done. And how it has affected my life. How I may never recover. And you know what? She doesn’t remember at all. (Though she did apologize.)
Of course, she is forgiven. (And I hope she realizes this post is all in fun.) But it’s a great reminder that our kids know what we’re up to and they’re hip to our game. (Always wanted to say that.)
So don’t lie to your kids. Not even about mustard.