My heart pounded. I couldn ' t believe my view. My feet felt stuck to the floor of the restaurant. I could rarely catch augmented step, jittery to go module further, but more basket case to stay put.
My life flashed before me; reaction this was the moment nonexistence would ever be the same further.
I pushed my way toward my carry on. I was feverous, hyperborean, and dampish. I was shaking.
He was sitting in the booth whereas I had left him minutes before I went to the ladies room, but with one alarming detail. His chest was covered in red liquid.
He appeared to be in shock; pale face, but breathing. My mind was racing - what happened, did someone call 911, where ' s the shooter, do I need to take someone out?
A little part of me said this can ' t be happening. My alpha male darling would not find himself at this end of a " situation ".
Suddenly there was some movement. A waitress came running with some napkins.
" Napkins? " " We need the paramedics! "
But something wasn ' t quite right.
And then I turned to survey the situation and saw the culprit.
He was sitting at an adjacent booth with an embarrassed look on his face. Embarrassment?
I was ready to jump the guy, when I saw an important piece of evidence on the table next to the accused: a long neck glass bottle of Heinz ketchup.
As I quickly got my pulse back to normal, the story came together.
The guy in the adjacent booth was trying to get some ketchup out of the bottle and did what every Heinz ketchup lover learns to do with the impossible long neck glass bottles. Whack it on the bottom.
This guy ' s whack was more powerful than he looked capable. Cause in the few seconds I was at bathroom, the whacked ketchup flew across the restaurant and covered my darling in a thick " blood - like " appearance. Hubby was sitting in the booth, stunned in disbelief, when I made my entrance.
Apologies were given; we exchanged some jokes and laughter.
Before the clean - up, I dipped my fries on my husband ' s red " chest - blood " and the day resumed its normal pace - - only to be remembered as the day my husband got shot in the chest in Marina Del Rey, California with a load of Heinz ought ' 57.
Who knew what started out as an ordinary day would be a memory for life?
Aren ' t you glad they now have plastic squeeze bottles?
