Condimental

(Couldn't make it to the Austin Film Festival? I took some dynamite notes for you. Read 'em on this week's Jared's Inkwell! -JMG)

Story Sent in by Jeff:

Once Nancy and I were nearly done with dinner, she patted her stomach, seemingly satisfied. "Good dinner?" I asked her.

She replied, "Yeah! Up for dessert?"

I hadn't planned on it, but I couldn't refuse. "What are you in the mood for?" I asked her.

She grabbed the mustard bottle on the table, squeezed a generous amount of it onto her plate, grabbed her spoon, and tore into it like it was pudding.

I watched in amazement and more-than-vague disgust. When she had finished her mustard, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and asked me if I wanted any.

"Mustard? No thanks. Was that what you meant by dessert?"

She said, "Yeah. You never had mustard for dessert growing up?"

"No. I might order the cheesecake. Would you want to split it?"

"Yeah!"

The waiter took our plates and returned with a slice of cheesecake. Nancy went for the mustard and I said, "None for me, thanks."

She nodded, then cut away a small piece of the cheesecake for herself, put a few drops of mustard atop it, and mashed it all together into one of those cheesecake-mustard pastes you've never heard of or seen before. Then she ate it.

I had thought about trying to kiss her at the end of the date, but her breath now smelled like she'd been eating pure rancid trash. The whole affair sort of turned me off (if we were to have a family, would she give our kids mustard for dessert?) and I didn't ask her out again.