Those of you who have poked around on here long enough might be thinking, how does she know? She hates ketchup.

Yes, it’s an abomination, but I waited tables. Those of you who toiled at that job, at least through the early 90’s, will know what I mean when I say, “Marry your ketchups.”

This was a bit of messy, annoying sidework every server had to do. We used to combine ketchups so that every bottle was full. Restaurant managers maintained that full bottles were more pleasing to the eye. There were no pesky expiration dates to consult. So, I’m guessing this practice is not done any longer. At least, I hope not.

My point is: I’m well aware of how ?$&@)(:/@“:/ hard it is to get that first plop of ketchup to come out of the bottle. I gave demonstrations of a trick to get it to come out to customers dying to drown their French fries and burgers with mutilated and abused tomatoes.

That’s how my mind feels. There’s too much stuff crammed in there right now.

I’m getting ready to take my shower and wash Sprout’s off my body, and out of my psyche.

Just wanted to tell ya’ll I’m trying to think of stuff to write about other than the word of the day.

I’m tired of being exhausted. And, I haven’t eaten dinner. I like to eat my evening meal when I’m squeaky clean and relaxed.

I’ll think of a word while I’m drenching my body in steamy water.