The Sesame Saga

So the other day, this happened. I'm not usually one for profanities, but I'm pretty sure the C word was batted around once or twice and that's when you know shit's serious. 
Rewind. Being the top girlfriend that I am, I decided to cook up a storm in the kitchen - which in my case is, 'throw a bunch of ingredients into a pan and hope for the best!' On the menu was some sort of Teriyaki sauce, prawn, sesame seed concoction or what I have affectionately come to call, the meal that fucked up my Tuesday. It started off well, which is usually indicated by the lack of fire alarm sirens bursting my ear drums. I'd obviously gotten far too big for my boots as I began strutting round that kitchen like Nigella, only in my PJs and far less glamorously. You know how it is...
Do you know when something really bad happens on TV and the producers like to slow it right down so the whole horrific scene is played out at an excruciating pace? Yea, that happened... only it was some kind of psychological trickery because I'm telling you, the minute I reached out to grab something and the sleeve of my jumper caught that sesame packet, the whole world switched into slow-mo. Tears were shed as I watched almost an entire Asian restaurant's worth of sesame seeds cascade out of the overturned box and scatter over every conceivable inch of my kitchen floor. The noise was truly something to behold. 
Obviously, the first port of call in a situation like this is your mobile phone for photographing the evidence. I mean, there's no chance I'm cleaning that shit up until I've captured the mess from every angle so that I can let everybody see just how bad it was. I even considered letting the seeds sit there until Scott arrived home from work so that I could point and make faces and have somebody bear witness to how awful a thing my day had been. Then all joking aside, I toyed with the idea of just saying to hell with it and letting it sit there until we acquired tiny mice that would be able to dine on it for months. And if I'm actually being completely truthful on the matter, my kitchen is still coated in sesame seeds as I sit and write this. You can't tell me I'm not a dedicated blogger if anything. 
I'll probably finish this post and go clean up. I say probably as thus far, I have no idea where to even begin. The more I stare at it, the more it looks kinda beachy, like sand or really tiny pebbles. Would it be totally unacceptable to claim it's a feature floor?