The last time I went to the grocery store, I was casually strolling down the condiment aisle, browsing through my options in hamburger toppings when I hit the mustard section.

Or should I say Mustard Department?

Up until this point, whenever someone uttered the word Mustard, an image was conjured up in my mind of a squeezable 10-oz bottle of French's Yellow Mustard. Plain old American mustard...with a French name.

That image was immediately shattered.

This particular grocer (which I would like to consider average when it comes to selection), had about five feet of horizontal shelf space, stacked four shelves high with mustard. Varieties of mustard not previously imaginable.

Over the years, I had grown to accept Dijon as an acceptable variety, kind of the "other mustard", and it too was present with a legion of flavored variants.

And each of the above in mild and spicy variants.

I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, taking in all that mustard-ness had in store for the uninitiated. My mouth hung open as I stared blankly at the wall of mustard, wondering how mankind could have let this happen.

One mustard was clearly enough; its use limited to hot dogs. But someone kept tweaking it, adding flavors, changing ingredients and proportions until one fateful day, when that laissez-faire attitude creates the Ultimate Mustard: the Mustard-Not-Only-To-End-All-Mustards-But-To-End-Mankind-In-The-Process-Of-Total-Mustard-Domination.

Let me tall you, folks, I have never tolerated mustard, and I certainly don't want to be around for that Armageddon.

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