Date a girl who likes ketchup

 
(The fault in our ketchup lovers.)

Date a girl who likes Ketchup.Date the girl who always asks for extra sachets of ketchup.She will refuse to touch the food unless there is ketchup included in the meal in one or the other form.Date a girl who will add ketchup to her ketchup,and not complain about the food as long as there's ketchup at the table.

Find a girl who likes ketchup.You'll know that she does because she always has extra sachets of ketchup stacked up in her fridge.She's the one who keeps eying the ketchup bottle lovingly,waiting to get her hands on it.You see the weird chick who's licking the ketchup off the edge of the plate while waiting for the food to arrive at a restaurant?That's your true ketchup lover.They can never refrain from reaching out for the nearest source of ketchup available.

She's the girl who will ask for ketchup,and you'll see her eyes light up when she is offered with it before she has to ask.If you take a peep into her plate,you can see the excessive amounts of ketchup coating the substantial food groups.Sit down.She won't talk to you at first because she's so engrossed in making the most of the ketchup experience,but she might stare at you and then your fingers to see if you've been eating ketchup too.

Ask her if she wants more ketchup.Ask her if you can get her a particular brand.Pass her the ketchup bottle before she asks for it.Use the ketchup-y pick-up line about her being saucier than ketchup.She'll laugh it away but also find it adorable,the same.

Let her know what you actually think of Heinz.See if she prefers Maggi over Kissan or DelMonte.If she likes the squeezable plastic bottles over the glass ones.Understand that she knows that "ketchup" was derived from an ancient Chinese delicacy that had no tomatoes,and lots of fish and she still refers to it as "catsup" sometimes or she's just saying that to sound sophisticated.Ask her if she likes homemade ketchup.

It's easy to date a girl who likes ketchup.Gift her a bottle of ketchup wrapped in a pretty red ribbon on New Years' Eve,gift her sachets of ketchup with a note tucked in between on Christmas.Make her homemade ketchup on her birthday,lick the ketchup clean off your fingers together in unison.On a bad day,a ketchup smiley on her food is all it might take to make her smile.The one-liner about ketchup being a smoothy will always be sure to crack her up.It's more than she'll be asking for.Let her know that you understand that ketchup is love.She will never compare you to random people,because she knows that all brands of ketchup have their own distinct taste and nothing can measure up to her favourite.

 Fail her.She'll understand if she understands that the consistency of ketchup at different levels of the bottle cannot be the same.She knows sometimes you have to jolt the bottle harder,squeeze the sachets till the last dollop is out.

She will share her ketchup with you,served with her secrets.To her,it equals sharing half of herself and the bottle will now run out in less than two weeks.She will let you hold her when she cries,as you get her a bowl of ketchup to make her feel better.You will propose to her with a ring hidden in the fridge  placed next to sachets of ketchup from your last romantic take-out dinner.Her face will turn the  shade of ketchup at the prospect.
There will be way too much ketchup at your wedding.She will introduce to all the kinds of ketchup known to her and you will slow dance to the ketchup song.One day,she will make you homemade ketchup.That's when you know she's the one you grow old together with."Ketchup" will be the term of free-flowing endearment at your house,to show affection towards you and the kids.It'll grow on you.She'll maybe make you acquire a taste for ketchup,even.Her sense of humor will include pretending she's a ketchup zombie or faking injury with ketchup.You'll find it endearing,as you fall in love with the way she falls asleep,like ketchup out of a bottle,slowly and then,all at once."Ketchup? Ketchup. Maybe Ketchup will be your Always." (Tfios adding too much definition to life and all.)
You'll have a word that sums up "I love you" ,but so much less cliche and so much easier to mouth.All you'll have to say is "ketchup."

Date a girl who likes ketchup,because you deserve it.You deserve a girl who finds solace in the simple pleasures of life,such as ketchup and has mastered the art of bottling up fears,but letting them flow free before the expiry date.If you can only give her the monotony of mayonise,hung curd,barebeque dip,terriyaki sauce,mustard,ranch and salad dressing,you're better off alone.If you want to revel in the tangy aftertaste of every new adventure along with undying devotion for lycopene and love,date a girl who likes ketchup.

Felt tip feelings.

                                                  I like leafless trees.I know they look very bare and all that,but I think that's exactly why I like them-they are not afraid of being vulnerable.It could be argued that they don't have an option,but nonethelss,it builds character and the kind of sublime beauty all the hiding behind leaves and shade,playing it safe,never letting the soul even peep can never conquer.

                                                I also felt this  certain feeling while looking at one,latticed above me in a criss-cross dream,as I pretended to count all the dragonflies flying low,indicator of rain,they say.

I felt this great burden lift off of my chest,set me free from this imaginary pinion I myself had created,

There were pink flowers like inverted tutus,that day-the edge of spring,the beginning of summer,deceptive petrichor-one could barely tell anything apart.

I felt whole and free and full.Like after satiating a food craving.And at the same  time,light as a cool breeze,the air curtain breeze lifting an instant of a blizzard through your hair.

A niche I had carved so within the depths of mellow denial,I  did not realise endings could feel like drizzle on your face,when you're longing for the rain.

Pretty pictures are not pretty just because you make them out to be,it's because you look at them as nothing separate from a part of who you are-

And that's when I learned that fatigue could feel good,in dark bags below my eyes and tired fingers bleeding with ink.
And sometimes the more I think,the less I feel,secured tight into suffocating knots like a fishtail braid,but what overpowers is-

                                Love embraces you much before you make note of it.

"Ye,Old Faithful."

Little,old men who dress well restore my faith in Humanity.(Not that I'm too close to losing it these days,but some people just make one question,you know.)
You know these men I speak of,you probably glance at them sideward while being very discreet,like the agility of young people allows them to be.Maybe you don't really notice them,they could be the background for all you care-the off-white undertones,all cream,beige,biscuit shades could probably been they're just camouflaging with the walls.
But there they stand,at that corner of the street,at the bend of the slope down your parking lot,very much there,but lost in the dreams of an old colour,in the ambling time of an old century.The Whitey Durhams from OTH,Cute old Carl from Upand the gold-rimmed bespectaled old gentleman from The Umbrella Man by Roald Dahl.
There they are,maybe looking at you discreetly,too-Maybe minding their own thought,taming them like old,faithful dogs.
They give you a whiff of old time charm-chivalry and gentler,mild mannered smiles and impeccable style of speech and letter-writing.Make you think of classic leather Moccasins ("You can always tell a gentleman from his shoes."~ Roald Dahl.) and leather bound journals,of a dozen fresh roses left on a lover's  doorstep,on polished or cobbled front step with a letter,every Tuesday,of being told to always dress well to dinner,and to raise your hat and bow for courtesy's sakes for ladies and gentle people.Of dog yeared yellowing maps,adventures growing cold and polished walking stick clicking in  rythm on the ground,like a wise king's spectre.
Something so neat,so crisp about these guys,so familiar and yet so fresh,like a childhood summer's first breath down one's neck.A cup of tea everyone always holds dear to their heart.

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

Of late,I have grown quite obsessed with the Perks Of  being a wallflower.
Yes,one might say it's overrated but it appeals to me,still.
For me,the whole point of reading it was leading up to the rather universal epiphany that it was a poignant portrayal of how hurt and pain resonate in every human relationship.All the  people Charlie loves and is close to, pick lovers who will hurt them in return.Maybe they want the hurt,maybe these are mere subconscious choices.Sam,Patrick,Charlie's siblings,Mary Elizabeth.All.
A very,very sombre,subtle, pretty portrayal,at that.
A slow,mellow transition of a situation more than a story,it is a moving portrayal of the fragility and intricacy  of hope and love and pain.
Even those events which would be considered otherwise major,massive or life changing are depicted in a subtle  undertone in this book,as if a swift  brook of  life met some boulders on it's way,and overcame."Things change,friends leave and life doesn't stop for anybody."
Maybe it's because the author wants us to know ,let me put it  this way,like the movie Seventeen Again said : "When you're young,everything feels like it's the end of the world,but it's only the beginning."
What struck a chord with me most in  the book,though,was the fact that the  transition of Charlie's life is at a very realistic pace.
And his pain  is palpable.The revelation of the fact that his aunt Helen molested him was moving,and how he never remembers her in a bad light,and blames himself instead,for he thinks she died because of getting him two presents instead of just one on his birthday,which happened to fall on the same day as Christmas.
In Charlie's own words-"These things,they do happen."
More often than never,people do blame themselves for being unlovable and this causes inevitable hurting to oneself and others.Like a daisy chain of hurt being passed on because of mutual pain that refuses to stop haunting us.
Having been a wallflower for very long,myself and finding solace in the world of books,I treasure the books immensely.Finally  finding your own kind is just another feeling-"Infinite".
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The courage it took me to say "I'm fat,so what?"

This is an age old topic and no matter how much is said and discussed,it will never be enough.
It's always been a recurring debate on my blog and in my mind-and in those of almost every girl I know.
And I  say girl,because I wouldn't do exact justice to male insecurities?

Because having a gap between your thighs is just so much more important that having enough  insulation to keep you warm in winters.
And having that much less or more on any part of your body would honestly make soo much of a difference,like they put it.
I spent the longest time wanting skinny plastic legs,but only when someone pointed out to me that they liked mine did I realise mine were just fine the way they were.I'm must confess a small part of me still covets those legs and it's not something I'm proud of.I'm sure there are so many out there who've wanted one kind of hair,skin,height,weight-with one common determinant shared universally-the lack of it,therof.
But let me tell you something I discovered growing up in a dysfunctional scape-
and heck,on most days,it makes me feel pretty good just looking like plain ol' me.And talking about body image always makes we want to embrace myself a little more-
Perfect is not beautiful,not even close.Perfect is nothing,at all.And if you still argue that it exists,I'll tell you it's subjective.Why do we need to all have an identical idea of perfect?
The creator left you flaws because every work of art needs to be flawed to be beauty in itself.
Identical ideas are sickening,and they make the monotony of it all so tiresome.Diversity is beauty.So is intelligence,wit,skill,talent..Qualities are beautiful,not ideas of how one appears or how one should.
Most of us don't realise it,but we are a sum of all our perceptions-you live your entire life inside the confines your mind and the only notion of beauty you should accept is yours.
Beautiful is not a mere description-it's a feeling.If you feel it,you potray it.Draupadi wasn't  the prettiest of them all,but she felt beautiful,because she knew what she was destined required her to believe in her beauty.
You can,too.
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