A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

I can't help but remember the day I was at the taxi stop waiting for a taxi to take me home with my 3-year-old son, when suddenly my son grabbed the cooler to get a drink of water, but then started playing with it while I got distracted trying to find a ride.

Suddenly, a loud noise was heard, the glass structure had shattered. A blunder by my son caused the cooler to hit the glass, shattering into a thousand pieces.

I immediately looked for the boy and checked him for a cut, but nothing happened. He was just scared by the cascading glass. No one was there, but I felt really sorry for that. I never thought the boy would have the strength to do that. Anyway, I thought: well, now they'll change that pink color of the stand since they have to fix it when they put the glass back on.

I felt so sorry for not being able to do anything to help with the broken glass, so they quickly told me they would replace it immediately and that they weren't happy with the color either, and they immediately started to repair it. The important thing was that the child was okay.

What do I see? A thousand pieces of glass on a dirty, ugly pink Stan.
What do I feel? I feel like something damaged needs to be repaired immediately, and I'm relieved to realize there's no blood on the floor because it means no one was hurt.

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