It started when an entire jar of Chinese noodles slipped out of my hands and crashed to the floor, sending shrapnel to every corner of the kitchen.
It ended when a half-gallon canning jar I was washing slipped out of my hands and sprayed the sink with shrapnel. (For the record, this is precisely the same kind of broken jar that sliced open my right hand a couple years ago, necessitating nine stitches.)
At least my grandmother's 80-year-old bread bowl, which I also washed, survived intact... because I would be heartbroken to lose this.
Sometimes there are days I think I should just stay out of the kitchen.