As soon as she was out of the room, I would drag a chair up to the fridge, climb up on tiptoe, lick my little mitts and dunk them into the sugar bowl*.
(*Yes. One of my earliest memories involves eating sugar. OF COURSE IT DOES.)
I'd lick, dip, and repeat until I heard footsteps coming from upstairs. But unlike Patrick, I never got caught.
Here's Patrick and Larry before school yesterday:
--I see there's something in your pockets, pal.
--Sit down on the couch and let me look in your pockets.
What was the kid thinking?