I'll Have the Ketchup and the Catsup, Please

I just watched in horror as the hot breakfast I was implored to drag myself out of bed to cook slipped, uneaten, into the trash can. The fork skirted around scrambled eggs and hashbrowns as if they were radioactive waste. The fork deftly scraped every atom of ketchup off the plate, leaving the remainder untouched. More ketchup was called for, the fork again sucked clean, before "I'm full" was announced. Soon someone will realize that it's a long, long time until lunch.