I throw the dice and find it's turned into a fried egg half the time. Or a bunch of hydrangeas. And that's when it *hasn't* rolled off the table and fallen into the dog's breakfast. And I live in fear of the day when the dice are going to march back across the table and throw *me* in return.

In the unlikely event that I do throw a low number, however, I have a tendency to glare at the die for a bit, then pick it up and put it down six side up and pretend it never happened...