The Fear of Ketchup

I can’t make this shit up. Next in the pile of strange relationships is a guy we’ll call PJ. He was afraid of ketchup. But before I get into that one, let’s do a lead-in. This one I met at a party that was lovingly dubbed the “Sex and Candy” party. Okay, I’m all decked out in my white trash costume--the hair is teased, I have fake hickeys everywhere, and the candy necklace waits on my neck ready to be chomped on. Fabulous night on the way, yes?

Well, I spotted this one as I chomped on the neck of some rocker guy. PJ had one eye on this liter of wine and the other on my own necklace. At least I think that’s how it went; he could have been a lazy eyed drunk. Anyway, we flirted and sampled each other’s necklaces but never exchanged numbers. It wasn’t until a month later that my roommate gave him my number when she saw him walking around campus.

Things started out pretty cool. We hung out a few times, and I started to tell my friends about him. I chatted with one friend over a ritual game of Mario Kart. She recognized his name, but not the way I knew him. This friend told me he’s the uber-religious type who heads the campus religious movement people. Oh, shit. Religion is not my thing, but I decide to continue hanging out.

A night of conversation at dinner confirms my friend’s information to be true. He also admits that he’s got a form of catatonic schizophrenia where all of a sudden he’ll freeze into a MJ crotch grab and freeze for hours. (Okay, that’s not entirely true, but I do have to protect his privacy a bit right? However, I think that would be the most bitchin’ catatonic state ever.) Anyway, as we chomp on our glorious campus meal, I pile on the ketchup and start to pass it to him. His eyes widen, and the chair tilts back as he bursts, “No thanks.” What is this guy’s deal?

Of course I confess this to my friends. You see, ladies, this guy’s got a couple strikes on him even if the ketchup thing was a very odd joke. One – freaky religion. Two – strange disorder. Three – pending that something as lame as ketchup counts as a fear. My friends, the wonders that they are, decided to check things out for me. I was mysteriously unavailable for a trip to the store one day. In the pursuit of brownie points and milk, he decided to join my friends without my company. My friends recall that everything was going fine until one of the girls sneaked up behind him with a big-ass bottle of red death. They tell me that he was still white for a good twenty minutes after he blacked out. Later that evening I decided that we didn’t need to be exclusive in our relationship.

On a side note: I guess I can’t blame the guy too much. Some people (me) have irrational fears as well. Take clowns. I’m not a fan; I think they’re creepy. Besides, anyone who’s heard the midget clown killer urban legend probably understands my fear here. I do wonder if he had a bottle of Heinz 57 on him though…