It's me. Your friend. Or, at least I thought so. You see, I like ketchup, and I really like you, too; but it's been hard lately.
When you told me that one time you were making KD, I got excited. Overjoyed. My whole heart soared at the idea. Then I saw you reach out and take out the red object. Not my heart, but the Heinz ketchup from the fridge. You reached in, and it hurt. You hadn't even squeezed yet, but I knew what you were going to do. You drenched the ketchup all over the radioactive orange mac, and it made me feel empty. Lost. Confused?
Would you put ketchup on our friendship? You told me that it adds extra flavour. Well, there's a time and a place for everything, and you could have added a bit of salt and pepper instead. Even cut-up hot dogs, maybe, or you could have even shredded some cheese on top. But this was not the time and place. Ketchup is for hot dogs. For Pogo sticks. To dip in fries. Not for my bowl of mac.
So, stop. Please. Do not swish the orange beauty that is my mac and cheese in a bath of red ketchup. Leave it be. There's a reason why there's no ketchup on the Mona Lisa. It just doesn't belong there.
Pineapple doesn't belong on pizza and you don't wear socks to sleep at night. The workers at Kraft didn't put the orange powder in the box just so you could wash out the flavour and turn it into a bowl of ketchup noodles. There's raw noodles and ketchup for that.
In the end, it's all on you. It's your deliberate decision. You do what you want with your KD, just don't ask me to be a part of it.