A Mission to the Mustard Museum (2 page)

Frannie fished a mint out of her purse and gave it to him. “Maybe we should go to the museum section of the building before we buy anything. Then we don’t have to carry it around with us.”

The museum was packed with glass display cases filled with mustard memorabilia. The cases were filled with mustard pots, tins, and glass containers. Interactive displays detailed the history of mustard, and how mustard was produced.

Another employee in a bright yellow mustard costume stood near one of the cases, waving at people as they passed. The costume’s yellow foam body was in the shape of a mustard container, with
Yellow Mustard
written across the front in red. Cotton arms and leggings completed the outfit.

“Remember the guy in the Italian Sausage costume at the ball game last year?” David asked. “He kept on following me around, telling me that he could beat me up. I think he had heat stroke or something. That’s just not normal behavior for an Italian Sausage.”

“I think it had more to do with the amount of beer the guy consumed during the game,” Frannie replied.

“Just because I’m a big guy doesn’t mean I like to fight all the time. I have my sensitive side. I know about deep natures.”

The person in the mustard costume was staring at David and Frannie, a hand on his hip.

“You better be careful,” Frannie whispered. “I think mustard boy wants to kick your butt.”

“I can take him,” David said, hefting his belt up. “I’ve been working out.”

“You have not. Throwing the ball for the dog does not mean you’re working out. I’m telling you, the mustard guy can take you.”

“How do you know it’s a guy under there?”

“I can tell,” Frannie said. “He stands like a guy. He’s tall. I think I see muscles under those yellow leotards.”

David walked up to the person in the mustard costume. The mustard man swiveled around to face David. The man’s yellow-clad arms swung limply at his side.

“Excuse me,” David said. “But my wife thinks you can beat me in a fight. I don’t believe her. Want to arm wrestle?” David held up his arm and pretended to flex his arm muscles.

The guy in the mustard costume stood perfectly still except for his arms which swayed slightly against the mustard suit.

“What do you think?” David asked with a smile.

The guy in the mustard costume just stood in front of David.

“Are you related to Becky?” David asked.

A small boy and a small girl walked up to the mustard man, their eyes large and staring. The mustard man swiveled towards them and waved. The little girl screamed and ran off, and the little boy reached up and punched the mustard man in the vicinity of the word “Yellow.”

The mustard man moaned and doubled over, both hands clutched below his belly. The little boy ran off.

“Hey buddy, do you need any help?” David asked, leaning in.

“I love my job,” a young male voice sounded from the suit. He shuffled away, still doubled over.

“Guess you were right about him being a guy,” David said to Frannie, giving her a pained expression. “Hope they have really good benefits here. I think he’s going to need some medical attention.”

“Do you think our kids ever acted like that?” Frannie asked. “I don’t remember them acting like that.”

“Not to my knowledge,” David replied. David and Frannie walked to the rows of glass display cases, peering in at the antique mustard containers. “I think we’re raising pretty good kids.”

“We’ll have two teenagers in the house next year,” Frannie said, putting her hand on the glass. “I don’t know if we’re ready for that.”

“I don’t think anyone is ever ready for that. And Brittany’s going to be driving this summer. That should be a hoot.”

Frannie groaned. “Are we that old?” She pointed at the mustard advertisements behind the glass. The magazines were laid out flat, their edges worn and fading. “I remember a lot of these ads.”

“It will be fine,” David said, taking her hand off the glass. He kissed her palm, and put an arm around her waist. “We’ll be fine and the kids will be fine. I think you worry too much.”

“Maybe you don’t worry enough,” Frannie said, leaning in to him. He smelled like fresh soap and the outdoors.

“Worry is a sin, and I’m no sinner,” David said.

Frannie snorted with laughter and pulled away from him. “Excuse me while lightning strikes your head.”

David smiled and pulled her to him.

They drifted to the corner of the museum. A small movie theatre room had been set up with folding chairs and a large TV. David and Frannie took a seat at the back. A man in a bow tie on the screen was explaining the way mustard was processed from seed.

“I love you,” Frannie said quietly.

“Ditto,” David said.

They watched the movie in silence for several minutes.

“Why are we here?” David asked, unbuttoning his coat.

“We’re learning more about mustard,” Frannie replied, watching the film. “And, of course, spending time together. We’re experiencing the world together. Sharing a combined experience. We’re on our Date Mission.”

“Speaking of Date Mission, do you think anyone would care if we made out here?” David asked, looking around. He put an arm around Frannie’s shoulder and nuzzled her neck.

Two older couples sat up front, eyes glued to the screen, hanging on the narrator’s every word. One of the women turned around and gave David a disapproving look.

“What?” David said quietly. “We’re married and everything. She’s got her undies in a bind over consenting married adults wanting a public display of affection.”

David and Frannie watched the movie for a few more minutes.

“Dijon is a country? Really?” David asked.

“It’s in France,” Frannie responded.

“What about Grey Poupon? Is that a country too?” David asked.

“Actually Grey Poupon is a brand name. But it was made in Dijon.”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“I’ve been listening to the movie,” Frannie said. “Haven’t you been listening?”

“Umm, no,” David admitted. “I think I might have closed my eyes there for a second.”

The old woman turned in her seat and gave David and Frannie a death-glare.

“Sorry,” David said to her.

The woman swiveled back around, returning to the movie.

“Want to get out of here?” David asked.

Frannie nodded silently. They slipped out the back of the theatre.

They walked through the museum back to the store, where a small coffee shop was set up in a quiet corner. They ordered two lattes and sat down at a tiny wrought iron table, draping their coats over their chairs.

Old newspaper and magazine advertisements were framed on the wall next to the table.

“I’m feeling a bit depressed,” Frannie said.

“Is it the mustard?” David asked.

“It’s the advertisements. I’m feeling old, faded and useless.”

“Useless? You’re feeling useless from looking at old mustard ads?”

“I’m remembering all the old TV shows and advertisements when we were kids. My mom and dad were still young. They were younger than we are now. They seemed so old back then. Now their health is starting to go, and where does that leave us? What do our kids think of us? Do they think we’re old? Do
you
think we’re old? I don’t feel that old. We’re practically at death’s door.”

David hesitated. “Wow, I would have never gotten that from an old mustard ad.”

“Stop it,” Frannie said, tears springing to her eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I’m serious too,” David told her. “I don’t make the leap from mustard to death as easily as you do.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

David moved his chair over to sit next to Frannie. She leaned into him, and he put an arm around her shoulder. He took one of her hands into his own, kissing her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m an insensitive clod.”

“I’m an oversensitive old woman.”

“You’re a
hot
old woman,” David said, kissing the top of her head. “Especially in those tight jeans and that low-cut sweater. But you’re really not that old. We have different age standards than when we were kids. I think you can safely shave twenty years off your actual age. Forty-five is the new twenty-five.”

“The kids don’t need us as much as they used to,” Frannie said, her eyes filling with tears. “I think that’s the useless part.”

“They’re growing up,” David agreed. He paused. “Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do? Grow up?”

“Well of course they are. I just miss the days of juice boxes and swing sets and snuggling on the couch watching cartoons. They’ve moved on to friends and all their activities.”

“That’s been our job, right?” David asked. “To make sure that they grow up?”

Frannie rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s our job. I’m just reveling in my sadness.”

“I think that’s called self-pity,” David said. “I get that when I can’t take off fishing because I’ve got a painting job to finish.”

“All right,” Frannie admitted. “I’ll stop feeling sorry for myself.”

“We have a while before we’re empty nesters,” David told her. He absently rubbed her shoulder. “I’m scared, too.”

“You are?” Frannie asked.

“Sure,” David responded. “We’ll be entering unknown territory when the kids are out of the house. We’ve been a couple with kids for a really long time. There’ll be a lot of changes in eight years when Steven’s at college. Even when Brittany is out of the house in a few years. But I’m not worried about it.”

“I really admire that you can be scared, but not worried about it,” Frannie said. “Truly.”

“I
am
worried about that crowd,” David said, nodding towards the front door.

A tour bus had stopped at the store entrance. A group of senior citizens swarmed into the building, stomping their feet and complaining about the cold. The women had their husbands by the arms, dragging them into the store. After a few minutes, the women gathered around each other, excited over a particular jar of mustard. The men were clustered in a corner, talking about sports.

Frannie grimaced. “Is that me?” she asked David. “Am I an old woman dragging my husband to see mustard pots that he could care less about?”

David tipped Frannie’s head back gently. Frannie leaned her head back and they shared a kiss.

“I think all this mustard is making me hot,” David said, putting a hand on her leg. “I think I’m changing my perception of the Mustard Museum. I’m starting to see its benefits.”

“Maybe it’s the thought of Louisiana hot mustard.”

“Actually, I think I’m excited to see you excited about mustard. I can tell you really like that stone ground.”

“You get excited about gadgets, I get excited about mustard.”

“Wait a minute,” David said. “I thought you were interested in one
particular
gadget?”

“Well, that
is
true. You seem unusually…excitable today.”

“It’s been too long,” David admitted. “We had that red paint crisis at work this week, which had me working nights, and you were at that cookie seminar one night. A couple of other nights the kids wanted to play board games. Who could pass that up, when they sometimes don’t want to be around us at all? It’s just been a while. A man has needs.”

“Gadget needs?”

“You got that right.”

The coffee server came to their table with their lattes. “Would you like to be a friend of the Mustard Museum?” she asked.

David gave Frannie a blank stare. “Do we?” he asked her.

“What does being a friend of the Mustard Museum entail?” Frannie asked the server.

The server handed her a full-color pamphlet. “You become an official friend of mustard,” she said. ‘It’s free.”

“Well, then,” Frannie said. “Sign us up!”

After they finished their lattes, Frannie headed for the restroom and David browsed the aisles. Frannie found him fifteen minutes later outside, hands deep in his pockets and his collar up against the cold.

“Why are you out here?” Frannie asked. “It’s freezing.”

“They kicked me out,” David responded.

“What?”

He smiled. “No, they didn’t kick me out. I’m just kidding. I just wanted to get some fresh air,” David said. “The perfume from all those old ladies was making my dizzy.”

“Want to leave?” Frannie asked.

“Yes, but I’m more than willing to spend more time at the mustard museum,” David said. “It’s part of my mission.”

“I think I’ve seen enough.

They hurried to the car, and David cranked the engine over. They waited for heat as the car warmed up.

“Here,” David said, pulling a paper bag out of his pocket. “Got you a little present.”

“It’s stone ground. The kind Becky was selling.”

“I tracked her down. Without scaring her, I might add. She was more than happy to sell me a jar.”

“That was sweet of you,” Frannie said, leaning over to give David a kiss. The kiss deepened and David brought his hand up under Frannie’s jacket. Frannie suddenly broke away.

“Wait,” she said. “I got you something too.” She pulled a bottle from her jacket pocket and gave it to David.

David smiled as he read the bottle. “Louisiana Hot Sauce,” he read. He looked at Frannie. “Thank you.”

“So, do you think we’ve accomplished our Date Mission for the day?” Frannie asked.

“Well, we’ve confirmed our favorite condiments.”

“I learned that although you’re not into mustard, you’re willing to journey with me to the Mustard Museum. That says a lot about you.”

“I’ve reestablished the fact that you’re still hot after twenty years of marriage. And that we can have fun even on a dreary winter day.”

“You still make my heart flutter,” Frannie said. “You look pretty handsome in your winter gear, holding that Louisiana hot sauce.”

David unscrewed the top to the sauce, taking a taste with his finger. He smiled and nodded in approval. He turned up the car’s heat and shrugged out of his heavy jacket, tossing it to the back seat.

“Is the sauce making you hot already?” Frannie asked.

“Honey, it’s not the sauce that’s making me hot,” David said with a seductive smile. Heat barreled out of the vents, and the windows started to fog. David turned to Frannie and put his hand back under her jacket.