I was five or six the first time I snuck food without my parents’ permission. The situation was a classic case of the kid stealing from the cookie jar. The cookies were peanut and chocolate-filled between two crisp shortbread cookies. They tasted so good that I must’ve downed half the jar! I accidentally knocked the jar over and immediately scrambled to clean up the mess.

Hearing me in the kitchen my parents called me into their room, I went upstairs against my will but knew if I didn’t talk to them, I’d get into even more trouble. They asked me if I had been eating anything; I shook my head no because my mouth was still filled with cookies. My dad went downstairs to look at the cookie jar.

He came back upstairs and told me that I had lied to him. I said that I didn’t eat any of the cookies. He said “What about that chocolate smeared on your cheek?” My cover was blown; I had to come up with something and quick. The only thing I could think of was this “oh, I forgot”. That was probably the worst excuse in the history of excuses, but it did make my parents laugh, and as I remember it, the consequences weren’t too bad.