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Nothing in Particularby Cris Cohen
Splatter This past summer we rented a beach house with my brother-in-law and his family. One night, after a few drinks, my wife, Michele, thought it would be fun to throw ketchup packets at the kitchen ceiling fan. She even encouraged Abby, my niece, to do it too. Michele is a good role model. I think later she is planning to show Abby how to throw steak knives so they'll stick in the ceiling. Maybe when the weather gets warm again they'll go outside and run with scissors. After several minutes of hurling condiment containers, one of the ketchup packets was sliced open by the ceiling fan. Red blotches were thrown all over the kitchen. It looked like someone slit his wrists while on a merry-go-round. Michele finished off the night walking on the counters and cleaning ketchup off the cabinets. The next morning Abby pointed out that part of the ceiling fan still had ketchup smeared on it. It looked like someone had used one of the fan blades to beat a small animal to death. "That opossum won't bother you anymore, ma'am." I was the only person hit by the ketchup splatter. There were only two drops on my shirt, but after Michele dabbed them with water, it looked like I was lactating. "Um, Cris, have you thought about using a pump to avoid the overflow?" Although, that's better than the ketchup's simulated blood stains. "New nipple piercings? I told you not to get those done at Home Depot."
When not working or spending time with his wife and son, Cris enjoys anxiety and depression. Cris believes these count as forms of exercise, since they often involve exhaustion and occasional sweating. For several years, Cris wrote a weekly column that ran in various California newspapers. He now practices that form of therapy here. Check out his blog here.
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