What's gone in won't come out

Having limited mobility and no car, I do send for items online and enjoy opening the parcels that arrive (after rating the courier for his or her courtesy, carefulness, smile, punctuality, obedience to instructions and kindness to his great-aunt, Matilda). That is to say, I relish the packages that require only a neat slit with a knife and a smooth withdrawal of the longed-for purchase. Those that require a struggle with my puny biceps (a muscle tussle) are less appealing and call for a number of neologistic expletives to express my frustration.

Then there the necessities I buy at the supermarket. Satsumas that come in little mesh bags.

Preparing to outwit me and SMIRK.

I take my trusty scissors to the mesh and cut a satsuma-sized hole. One obediently pops out but then rolls onto the floor. I blame Newton: if he hadn't invented gravity I would be doing a lot less bending. The rest refuse to leave and sit, smirking unpleasantly at me, in their nest. 

A satsuma in full smirk mode

Then one rallies the troops and they all tumble out gleefully in different directions, cheering one another on and attracting bruises as they go.

Then there is ketchup. I cannot beat Richard Armour (not Ogden Nash) at expressing frustration with this object, that declines to perform its bounded duty - as my chips go cold.

Shake and shake the ketchup bottle,

None'll come and then a lot'll.

Another item jeering at me.

Some of my angst stems from a year spent in the U.S.A., avoiding all  recipes which involved catsup, assuming it to be an exotic ingredient far beyond my limited budget.