When it Rains in Hell

I just wanted some toast.  My mom doesn't eat flour and my dad isn't much of a "convenience" food guy so every time I come home, I have to fish out our toaster from some hidden cabinet.  This time I had to climb to the top of the cupboard-abyss of the broom closet to get myself some delicious, crispy, I-can't-believe-it's-not-buttery toast.  This is

 what happened: 

 

Broom closet:  6'7 tall.  I measured

Maggie:  5'3 tall.  I measured!

Toaster:  Located on that top shelf.

And then THIS rained down on my head when struggling for the stow-away appliance:  Two boxes of garbbage bags, two steak knives and--worst of all--what could only be two million (kitchen floor colored) bread crumbs. This is because that godless trap door on the bottom of all toasters opened up and vomited its bile all over my head.  Needless to even think about, the youngest of all those crumbs were 4 months old:  The last time I was home.

Thanks... YOU guys.