Carlie walked across the kitchen floor, the tile chilly against her bare feet. As she lifted her hand to the cupboard in pursuit of a cup, she turned the faucet on, fully anticipating a nice, cool glass of tap water. Two cups in hand, she began to pull them apart, them being somewhat stuck together. She did not pull with force; it was not needed. Or so she thought. She twisted the cup, trying to gently ease it from the other. Then, her luck tragically ran short. Glass shattered in her hand, bursting in pieces across the counter and floor. Though the glass she had been trying to wedge free seemed fully unscathed, the one that had been holding it was, unfortunately, no longer glass. It was merely shards, sitting benignly, waiting to be swept up. And this was Carlie's experience as she tried to get a glass of water.
This really did happen. Not too recently, but recently enough for me to describe it in disgustingly horrid detail. It was brought to my attention as I thought about going to get a glass of water. And I don't think I shall ever forget it. 'Twas quite scarring.