The Condiment Conspiracy
Remember my camping adventure last month when the mustard bottle tried to kill me? Well, I had another misunderstanding with this culinary accessory. During a trip through Traverse City a few weeks ago, my husband and I and his folks stopped at a local pub for some grub. After receiving my burger, naturally I turned to my favorite condiment, mustard. I always shake the bottle before I pour and when I do, I plug the cap with my finger so mustard juice doesn't spray everywhere. As this was in a glass bottle, I did the unthinkable. I assumed the cap was screwed on securely before I applied enough force to shake that damn thing into the next world.
Can you guess what happened?
I doubt to this day the restaurant staff has been able to find the cap to that bottle. It flew off to destinations unknown and its contents spewed left and right in synch with my swiveling wrist. Amazingly enough, I was the only one covered in gloppy yellow streaks. That shit got on my hoodie, inside the collar of my t-shirt, on the back of my neck, and in my hair. The other three people at the table remained spotless despite the fact that my mother in law was directly in the line of fire.
I'm not sure what I did but it's obvious a missive has been passed through the condiment community. I've somehow angered the vinegary spread and I'm afraid the attacks will only increase in number and ferocity. Keep in mind that in these specific incidents, different brands of mustard were involved. I didn't just commit a foul against French's or piss off Plochmans. Any and all mustards must be assumed as potential assassins.
So if you see me at a local restaurant, family picnic, or neighborhood barbecue eying that yellow bottle with trepidation, keep your cell phones handy and poised to call emergency services. My life may depend on it.
P.S. I think the problem has spread to the tomatoes. My husband was splattered with ketchup not too long ago. I fear for the safety of my loved ones.