I don't remember it.
But there must have been some strange ketchup shortage in Marinette, Wisconsin in the 1960's.
My orange-haired, opie-lookin', freckle-covered, gym-shoe-wearin', gangly-legged, husband-to-be, must have gone without.
Without ketchup on his french fries.
Without ketchup on his hot dog.
Without ketchup on his hamburger.
Without ketchup on his meatloaf
without ketchup on his pot roast.
He must have had a real sense of loss.
A real hankering for the stuff.
Because, nearly every time he goes to the grocery store to pick up this or that.
He comes home with some ketchup.
"I got some ketchup"
"*grin* We have lots of ketchup."
"It was on sale."
Hey, I asked for ketchup! I'm eatin' salad here!
Encourage one another,