As I was putting away groceries tonight, I reached up into a high cabinet to move a bag of teeny-tiny seashell pasta, which I use for chicken soup.
The bag had been opened, but it has one of those adhesive stickers to reseal it. But I reckon those don't always work so well.
When I lifted the bag, I squeezed it in the middle. It popped open and a noisy torrent of tiny seashells rained down upon me and the kitchen. I stood there, frozen in disbelief. It was like being in a cartoon; it seemed to go on for way too long, probably because loads of them landed on top of my head and shoulders, and when I started laughing, I dislodged them.
Those shells are very bouncy. They went everywhere: behind the cookbooks, in the cats' dishes, all over the floor, countertops, and groceries. Down the back of my turtleneck. I even found some in the living room, under my desk, as we swept them up. At least they weren't chocolate chips; that would have been a shame.
I put a sturdy metal clip on the bag because I am smart enough to know that I am dumb enough to do the exact same thing again.