As I commence to feast upon my long-awaited meal at the banquet, I am served with an unassuming bottle of ketchup. Transparent, glass exterior, filled with blood red sauce. It interests me (though I do not need it to make the meal taste good).
I turn the lid to open it and turn the bottle over. The sauce seeps out in droplets, one by one. “It is not enough”, I think to myself and I smack the bottle hard at its base. Just as I have enough sauce for my meal, the bottle shatters into pieces.
The ketchup explodes on my meal, and on me (exactly where my heart should be). I learn that I cannot leave the banquet hall table to clean my mess. I must learn to eat, despite my distress.