Kitchen Omens: Fantasy

When the bowl slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor, he knew that nothing but badness would follow. The shards aligned into a five-pointed star on the kitchen floor. Desperate, he grabbed a broom and swept up the shards. He dumped them into the rubbish heap, where they all stood upright like miniature soldiers fighting for the truth. He grabbed a shovel and heaved offal over them. He could still see a handful of tiny blue shards protruding through the mass, but he figured he was safe. Who would check the offal heap, after all? He had hardly walked though the kitchen door when he saw that the water in the pot was swirling in a counterclockwise direction as it boiled. Terror turned his face stark white. He threw in a handful of salt and the water subsided to a steady bubbling boil. The patrons would complain about their stew, he was sure, but it didn't matter.

Inspiration: None. Can't you tell? Any time one of these starts with a) dancing, b) music, or c) something breaking, I had no inspiration.
Story Potential: Medium
Finished Length: Short story
Notes: My ideas about this changed as I wrote the last sentence. So take from it what you will.