Agent Nat was having one of those days. As a suave secret agent type he didn't have many, but this was one. Nothing was going right. He burned his toast. He was past due for a laundry day and his one clean shirt needed ironing. Agent Nat hated ironing.
Also, the light bulb in his bathroom burned out. Agent Nat suavely grabbed a new bulb, suavely climbed up to change it, suavely placed one foot on the toilet and one on the sink counter, suavely unscrewed the fixture and replaced the bulb, and suavely tossed the old bulb into the garbage can. He missed. An easy bucket- a gimme, really. He could make that shot 999 times out of a thousand. But the bulb caromed off the rim and shattered on the tiles.
Agent Nat gingerly climbed back down, not so suave anymore, and keenly aware of both the shattered glass and of his bare feet. Agent Nat avoided cutting himself, probably because he was so suave.
He was looking for his broom and dustpan when his phone rang.
(to be continued when the writer has an idea about Agent Nat's next scene)