I am fortunate to have lived my life (so far) with very few enemies. There are people I haven’t liked, and there are occasions that I have had an awfully awkward time due to the avoidance of certain someones, but no one has been a mortal enemy who I have sworn an oath against for life.
I fear that this all has now changed.
No mess squeeze, reads the label. How about easy squeeze open? That is a guarantee I might now have to demand in all future ketchup endeavors.
I had the delightful opportunity of accompanying my friend Katie to a networking event tonight in Charleston. However, like most networking events, this one started early and lasted through what many would consider dinner time. To prepare my stomach, I decided to eat some leftover potatoes. (Who cares about the details of my leftovers? Apparently you do, but I promise this is going somewhere.)
Like many potato fans, I immediately thought ketchup as the ideal condiment pairing for my taters. I was hungry and in a rush, but luckily we had a brand new ketchup bottle in the pantry; my snack seemed ready to consume.
One of the beauties of having Jamey in my life (among other things) is that he’s a good opener. (He’s also a good closer; otherwise I can’t say I would have ever agreed to date him in the first place.) I bring him a jar? One twist and it’s done. A wine bottle whose cork broke halfway through the opening? He’ll hand it back to me fixed in less than 10 seconds. It’s a task I relegate to him, and I am completely helpless when it comes to this sort of thing when he’s around. Plastic ketchup bottles, on the other hand, demand far more attention, and I apparently do not have the strength or willpower to deal with their ludicrous sealings. Unfortunately, this time I am forced to endure the task alone until he returns.
I twisted and scraped and pounded the stupid top of that ketchup bottle for about 10 solid minutes. I think I even jumped around the apartment waving my arms and wiggling, hoping to get a little bit of the cap loose. If there ever was a moment for a Youtube sensation, this was probably it.
At some point, I took a koozie, held it over the cap, and twisted as hard as I could. Breath baited, I knew it was only a matter of moments before my defenses failed and I retreated to the uneaten potatoes, now growing cold and ketchupless in the microwave.
Then, in a brief moment of fluttering eyelids, the lid turned.
I hollered and whooped, sloshing the condiment onto my meal to eat before running out the door. It was a victory of singledom; I in fact can open bottles with my own willpower, as much as I love to resort to handing off the jar to Jamey whenever he is here.
I might have reached that point in his business trip duration of when I get silly. Mostly, I am amused by how I let that ketchup take on its own persona in those 15 minutes; it consumed me before I could consume it. Opening the fridge now, hours later, I still think it that bottle looks evil, though. (Speaking of evil…anyone else but my mom familiar with the hilarity of this Brian Fellow SNL skit? “That goat looks evil.”)
Jamey returns home today. I might just have to have him go through all the cabinets and fridge before he leaves again, because I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle this kind of debacle the next time he’s gone.
Who’s to complain, though: just gives me yet another reason to blog about daily nonsense, which is the way I like it.