When I was eight years old, I woke up in the middle of the night and was hungry for something sweet. (Some things never change!
) I went downstairs to the kitchen and remembered that my mom had made fresh chocolate chip cookies that day. We had one of those very large ceramic "cookie jugs" and my mom kept it on top of the refrigerator. Of course I was too short to reach it, so I climbed on top of the countertop next to the refrigerator and tried to reach it. My arms were too short, so I opened the cabinet next to the refrigerator and while holding the cabinet's handle, I leaned over and was able to reach the cookie jug. Evidently those cabinet doors were not made to support a child's weight because the next thing I remember was being on the kitchen floor and having my parents standing over me while I was still clutching the cabinet door in my hand. The crazy thing about this was that I continued to deny that I was trying to get in the cookie jar. . . "I don't know how it happened, Mom and Dad."
Nothing like having this brought up at ever family gathering, even thirty years later
