[dropcap]F[/dropcap]or as long as I can remember, I’ve had a sincere love of mayonnaise. There are, however, limits to how far mayo should be allowed to voyage.

When I was sixteen, I dated a girl who had a strange secret; she used mayo on everything from bananas to peanut butter sandwiches. She even dipped her french fries in mayo.

I did my best to pretend that I wasn’t revolted by her curious tastes, but when I watched her slather Duke’s all over a wedge of watermelon, I decided I no longer wanted to be seen in public with her.

However, my most nauseating experience with mayonnaise happened when I was on the beach as a young man. I got stung by a jellyfish while playing in the water, and I screamed bloody murder.

My friend, a Coast Guard medic, jogged up to our cooler and retrieved a jar of Duke’s. He giggled while he smeared it on my lower leg, I shut my eyes and moaned like a hog in heat.

“You ain’t gonna like what I’m about to do next,” my friend set his beer down and stood up. “Just keep your eyes closed.”

All of a sudden, I had the sensation that someone was spraying my leg with a garden hose.

I screamed a very ugly word, and somewhere in the world, my childhood pastor probably experienced chest pains.

“Now, now,” my friend zipped up his fly. “No need to act all pissy.”


  1. Sherry - April 10, 2015 10:04 am

    Where do you come up with this stuff? Ha ha haaaaaa

  2. Simon - April 10, 2015 11:02 am

    I read you on Facebook every day. My mother and I laugh at every one of your stories.

  3. Rod - April 10, 2015 5:47 pm

    I can’t stand mayo. Unless it’s Cinco de Mayo. 🙂


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