I Believe...[Dog Sauce, My Ass]
...that Chicago Dog Sauce is both a terrible name for ketchup and the strangest ploy to get Chicago hot dog purists (which is like old lady Hummel figurine collectors and dudes who collect sports tattoos in the precious category) to use a condiment in history. They could’ve called it “Ketchup for Morons” and it would’ve been more honest.
The stomach tightens and sinks.
The heart and lungs follow.
It’s a confounding reaction to a receipt of affection.
It’s familiar, and, therefore, oddly comforting.
But familiarity can be a curse.
A cursed reminder of what once went wrong when you were just trying to do things right this time.
This time it’ll be different, you say.
Why? You’re different, but what are you doing differently?