Reality enters a Matrix-like slow motion when a glass of red wine is knocked from a dinner table. It clinks and wobbles before myriad arms shoot out from every direction in a desperate attempt to prevent disaster.
Two possible scenarios are imagined by the clumsy soul who managed to dislodge the glass from its place on the table: one in which fate and luck team together to intervene and prevent the glistening white rug beneath from ruin, and one where the perpetrator sits with their head in hands before promptly scrubbing the disastrously stained carpet with white wine, vinegar, baking soda, and anything else they can get their hands on.
