One Can't be a Bull in a China Shop

I held the glass in my hand. Then I lost my grasp and it slipped. It slipped right out of my hand. What a great glass. My most favourite of glasses, and it slipped, slipped out of my hand. It fell, almost as though it were in slow motion. Out of my hands. I watched it fall, knowing its fate because of the badness that befell it. But the glass didn't know. The glass wouldn't know until it was already too late. Then it hit the floor. It hit the floor, but it didn't make a crash though it was in a thousand pieces. They were everywhere. The piece, just scattered about, everywhere. How does one clean up a mess like that without cutting their fingers on the pieces? They were everywhere and nothing could be done as the glass was already broken. It was much too late. The glass had slipped and you were unable to catch it in time. You can never glue it back together. For glue is never the answer. You'll never find all of the pieces and you will just cut your lip on the edge of your make-shift glass. The best you can do is buy a new glass. You buy a new glass and make sure that it's not your favourite. For when this one slips from your fingers, you don't mind. You don't mind and all you have to do is sweep up the glass and throw it out. Throw it in the garbage and think nothing of it. Perhaps plastic cups are the answer...