Someone Pass The Ketchup

Someone pass the ketchup. Pensive waiting, equating hands of time filled with emptiness absent it seems of company, still not eating, What's 'keeping him, and how badly does he expiate? Or apologise; treat him to one dinner date. I'm famished. I'm past the point of hunger. 'Jeez, ' I hope he warms his bloody plates. It wouldn't have happened when I was younger. I'm going cold on this meal. I want him., I'll slip out of my heels and sneak a look. I'll pinch his bottom, and I'll stay in trim. 'Isn't he yummy? ' Who needs a cookbook? If he's lucky, I'll be wearing the thyme. On a slow timer together, we'll chime. — with Aislinn Heathcote.