Never Say Genius (3 page)

“Cheese is a funny word,” said Pep. “Isn’t it odd that we say ‘cheese’ when we take a picture?”

“Everybody does that, doofus,” Coke said.

“Don’t call your sister a doofus,” said Mrs. McDonald. “It’s not nice.”

“But why do we say ‘cheese’ when we take a picture?” Pep asked.

“Probably because it forces people to smile,” Dr. McDonald said. “You can’t say ‘cheese’ without smiling.”

“Well, you can’t say ‘disease’ without smiling either,” Coke pointed out. “Why don’t people say ‘disease’ when they’re getting their pictures taken?”

“Well, everybody likes cheese, and
nobody
likes disease,” said Mrs. McDonald.

“Doctors like disease,” Coke said. “If we didn’t have diseases, all the doctors would be out of a job. We wouldn’t even need doctors anymore. So it’s actually in a doctor’s interest for there to be lots of people with diseases. If all those people were suddenly cured, it would be a disaster for the medical industry.”

Everybody thought about that for a few minutes.

“With that logic,” Pep said, “if cars never broke down, all the mechanics would be out of jobs.”

“That’s true,” Coke agreed.

“If there were no arguments,” said Dr. McDonald, “we wouldn’t need lawyers.”

“I guess every bad thing that happens in the world is good for
somebody
,” said Mrs. McDonald. “Sometimes good things can be bad things. And sometimes bad things can be good things.”

Everybody chewed on that as they drove past the barns and silos that dotted the Wisconsin countryside. The twins were happy and relaxed for the first time since school had let out. Their long nightmare was finally over. They wouldn’t have to worry about Dr. Warsaw or Mrs. Higgins or any of those bowler dude psychos who had been trying to kill them. Now they could enjoy the rest of their trip to Aunt Judy’s wedding in Washington. It was like a great weight had been lifted off their shoulders.

They had no idea that in a matter of hours, they would be hearing the sizzle of boiling oil as it splattered against their skin.

Mrs. McDonald fiddled with her portable GPS to find out that it is 885 miles from Spring Green, Wisconsin, to Washington, D.C.—almost sixteen hours of straight driving. That is, if you were going to do the whole trip without stopping, which would be crazy. The plan was for them to stay overnight in Chicago and Cleveland, and also a few other smaller towns along the way.

“We have nine days to get to Washington for Aunt Judy’s wedding on the Fourth of July,” she announced. “So there’s plenty of time to stop off along the way and see some cool sights.”

Mrs. McDonald had not seen her sister Judy in ten years, ever since they’d had an argument about a boy Judy was dating. But that was ancient history now, and she was excited and a little nervous about seeing her sister again.

“You’re not going to force us to go see the largest cow in the world and stuff like that, are you Mom?” asked Coke.

“I promise,” Mrs. McDonald said. “No giant cows.”

The McDonalds had been driving for less than an hour on Route 14 when they entered the town of Middleton, Wisconsin, not far from Lake Mendota.

“Stop the RV, Ben!” Mrs. McDonald suddenly shouted.

Dr. McDonald was getting used to these sudden exclamations from his wife. He stomped on the brake and the RV screeched to a halt, almost getting rear-ended by the Toyota Camry behind it.

“What is it?” Dr. McDonald said angrily.

There was a sign at the side of the road…

“No!” Coke moaned. “You gotta be kidding me! We already went to the Pez museum. We went to the yo-yo museum. And now
this
. Do we
have
to go? I
hate
mustard.”

“Aren’t there any giant cows around for us to look at?” asked Pep.

“We’re right here!” Mrs. McDonald said. “We
have
to go. If we didn’t go, I would spend the rest of my life regretting that I was in Middleton, Wisconsin, and didn’t visit the National Mustard Museum. This will be
perfect
for
Amazing but True
!”

Three pairs of eyes rolled. There was no arguing with Mrs. Bridget McDonald when she decided to do something. And she was right. The oddballs who read her website every day would
love
to learn about a museum devoted to mustard.

Dr. McDonald just sighed and drove to the center of Middleton, where Pep spotted a big sign over a storefront…

As soon as they walked into the museum, their eyes were assaulted by five thousand jars, bottles, and tubes of mustard from all fifty states and more than sixty countries. Polish mustard. Chinese mustard. Australian Outback mustard. There were also antique mustard pots, mustard tins, vintage mustard advertisements, and other assorted mustard memorabilia.

Dr. McDonald shook his head. As a respected history professor and author of
The Impact of Coal on the Industrial Revolution
, he was mystified by the fact that his research grant applications were frequently turned down, but somehow people managed to get funding to build museums devoted to hot dog condiments. He could have spent his summer researching his next book, but instead he was about to waste his money buying jars of mustard in a museum gift shop. Life wasn’t fair.

Mrs. McDonald got to work, snapping photos for her website and interviewing strolling mustard lovers about their personal mustard memories. She threw herself into her work, which was why her website was so successful. Even though she didn’t personally love mustard, she filled out a form to join the Mustard of the Month Club. So every month for a year, she would receive a new jar of mustard.

“Will you folks be here the first Saturday in August?” asked the man behind the cash register.

“No, we’re on our way to my sister’s wedding in Washington,” replied Mrs. McDonald. “I haven’t seen her in ten years.”

“Too bad,” the guy said. “The first Saturday in August is National Mustard Day. We have a lot of festivities planned…”

Coke and Pep looked at each other and mouthed the words, “Let’s get out of here.”

When they finally did get out of there, Mrs. McDonald was carrying a large shopping bag.

“I couldn’t resist,” she told the twins. “I bought you another birthday present.”

“Let me guess,” Coke said. “A jar of mustard?”

“Of course not!” Mrs. McDonald said. “I know you don’t like mustard. Go ahead. Open it.”

Coke opened the bag. Inside was a toilet seat, with these words printed on it:

“Get it?” Mrs. McDonald said. “Poupon is a kind of mustard.”

“We get it, Mom,” Pep said. “Can we go now?”

Coke and Pep had no idea what they were going to do with a Poupon U toilet seat, but they made sure to thank their mother and tell her it was just what they always wanted. You should always accept gifts from loved ones graciously, even if somebody has just given you the dumbest thing in the world.

The RV passed by Madison, the capital of Wisconsin. In the backseat, the twins amused themselves with crossword puzzles and playing cards, blissfully ignorant of the fact that soon they would be lowered into a vat of boiling oil. But you, fortunate reader, know it’s coming and are probably wondering when that exciting event will happen. Patience. And no skipping ahead!

Dr. McDonald was taking the scenic route, staying off the interstate highway, and enjoying the view. Less than an hour from the Mustard Museum, the RV entered the town of Fort Atkinson and rolled to a stop in the south side of the downtown area outside the Hoard Historical Museum.

“Why are we stopping
here
?” Pep asked, annoyance in her voice.

“Because this is the National Dairy Shrine Visitor’s Center,” Mrs. McDonald informed her.

“Dairy Shrine?” the twins said together.

And so it was, a shrine to all things dairy. The place was jam-packed with antique milking machines, a dog-powered butter churn, and even Elsie the Cow’s original blanket. Mrs. McDonald took notes for
Amazing but True
, while Dr. McDonald examined the dioramas of pioneer dairy life. The twins walked around, searching desperately for an exit sign.

“Look, kids,” Mrs. McDonald said enthusiastically. “The National Dairy Hall of Fame!”

On the “Wall of Pioneers” were Harvey D. Thatcher (inventor of the glass milk bottle), Arthur Baer (“World Authority on Ice Cream”), and Thorkeld “Tom” Knudsen (the developer of half-and-half).

“This place is a snooze fest,” Coke whispered to his sister.

“They don’t even have a cool gift shop,” Pep replied as she leafed through the only book for sale,
A History of Dairy Marketing in America
.

The twins would not have been so snarky if they had any idea that they would soon be dropped into a vat of boiling oil. But as you well know, they were clueless.

Thankfully, the McDonalds did not spend much time at the Dairy Shrine and were soon heading south and east on Route 12. In about an hour, they passed a sign…