Ice-Ice, Baby

How is it that every-single-time I go to get ice with my hands, from my freezer, one piece falls to the ground?  Is it just happy ice, that is too jumpy to contain?  Is ice really that slippery?  Was it just dying to escape?

This is one of the small things in my daily life that have the capacity to trip me up, tip me off, or perhaps lead me to chuckle.  Although, chuckling is hard to do as you bend over, pick up said piece of ice, and toss it in the sink. Ugh.

I pray that the latter is true.  In my heart of hearts, I know I just need to pick up and move on.  But my flesh gets annoyed!  So... this is my guess as to why the ice dispenser on the front of the refrigerator was invented.  Some "genius" found the small, seemingly insignificant, inconvenience of picking up that one (sometimes two) pieces of get-away ice as a bother.  Instead, the alternative is to stand there and wait for the ice to plummet into your cup.

One.

at.

a.

time. 

This is the problem! 

...aint nobody got time fo' DAT!