One Day at Dairy Queen - Julie

Rina, Jeni and I rolled in after camping, hot, tired, hungry and not feeling like consulting the nutrition information contained on all the placemats. After my customary question to any traveling companions, "Would it totally gross you out if I got a corndog?" was answered to my satisfaction, I ordered two.

We slumped in the slick plastic booths and awaited our calories. The man/child who brought my two individual boxes of corndogs looked at me hesitantly, "Do you want ketchup or mustard or anything like that?"

"Oh mustard, please, thanks!" He hesitated another moment before going back to the kitchen. When he returned his eyes were wild, pleading.

"Well," he started, "we have mustard, it's just not here." I looked in his empty hands. He was right. "Do you...want me to go get?" he said. "It's in a big can or something." He had a look on his face like he had just asked me if I wanted him to go in the back and knife the cook. A plastic container of honey mustard appeared from his pocket. "Do you want this honey mustard?" He leaned on the back of my friend's seat holding the pocket-warmed container in his hands.

"Sure, that'd be great."

I tried a bite of corndog with honey mustard. I really did. The sweetness of the corn breading combined with the sweetness of the honey mustard made my throat close up.

Okay Julie, you're 42, you're at Dairy Queen, and you want some yellow mustard -- come on. So, at the prodding of my friends I stood up and made my way to the counter to say, 'Yes, open the big can and get me some *&^@*# mustard!'

But on my way my eye was caught by the Condiment Counter, well-stocked with salt, pepper, ketchup, and, Lord yes, mustard packets. Hundreds and hundreds of mustard packets.

I quietly grabbed two and went back to my giggling friends, making sure to dispose of the spent packets when I was done, and to leave the honey mustard container next to my two corndog sticks, empty. After all, I had gotten what I wanted.