I am terrified of tomato ketchup

Death: inevitability we all face, hopefully at and old age after a very long and fulfilling life.

Tomato ketchup: Satan’s spunk. For as long as I can remember I’ve had an almost crippling fear of the dreaded red stuff.

There isn’t one key, traumatic childhood incident I can point to and say ‘that’s where it all began’, like someone with a fear of dogs that might rule it down to that time their family and everyone they loved was mauled to death by Pomeranian dogs. I can’t really say there was ever a vicious attack by a bottle of Heinz, that I can recall.

It’s not just your standard tommy k that sets the acid off in my stomach making me want to vom. BEANS strike the fear of god into me. I’d rather lick the bottom of your shoe than eat beans.

It’s their weird, slimy texture and the quite frankly offensive orange bile they leave on every surface they touch. The same goes for the juice that comes off those cheap spaghetti hoops, tinned sausages and basically anything tinned. I can’t do it, I just can’t.

Has this made my life difficult? Well it hasn’t made it fucking easy. My first job was in a coffee shop where apparently EVERYONE IN THE WORLD wanted tomato sauce with their sandwich.

Don’t try to disguise yourself in a fancy box

There was a lot of breath holding while loading the dish washer. I’d use scalding water to make sure there was no substance on me. I can’t touch cutlery that’s touched any form of tomato sauce.

One time when I went for a nice, innocent dinner with my lovely friend- who clearly enjoys ketchup a lot more than I do. She’s basically a madman when it comes to the stuff! So much so she flicked the bottle lid so hard the sauce exploded onto MY ACTUAL FACE and my beautifully clean white top.

I no longer own the top but I have to live with my face for the rest of my life.

Mortuusequusphobia, aka the fear of ketchup is a very real and justified phobia.

Death is inevitable. Tomato sauce is a choice.