Living on the edge

Unclean was the first adjective that one would reach for when describing our house. That spot has now been claimed by the word 'unsafe'. Sadly, the first causality happened to be SV. Poor fellow, it's always him. What happened was this: SR wanted jam, I threw the bottle at him, he did a Kamran Akmal, the bottle crashed and shards of glass scattered all over the living room. According to some statistics that some one with nothing better to do must have surely written, there is a jam bottle breaking down every minute somewhere in the world. No big deal. But what sets us apart is that, instead of cleaning up the mess as most sane persons would do, we drew a map around the danger zone and put up a signpost for our hapless guests. A few minutes later, I spilled some detergent and the danger zone was enlarged. So much that there was no way to reach the kitchen from my bedroom. So I constructed a bridge with two chairs and a table. Perfect. All was well with the world until SV, despite all elaborate warnings, miraculously stepped upon a shard and sustained a minor cut. Luckily, no serious injury, and no veterinarian service was needed. We all survived the day with no further accidents. Tomorrow is a new day. :-)