Do you suppose all stories of childhood destruction begin with those words?
It seems like all of mine do.
So, against my better judgement, I let Felicity play in the pantry while I did the dishes.
I even saw her pull the bag of birthday/cake decorations off the shelf and didn’t stop her.
I’d like to say that I didn’t realize the can of multicolored sugar sprinkles was even in there.
But I can’t.
Or that when I saw her pick up the bottle, I didn’t think, because of her age, that surely she wouldn’t be able to open it.
Famous last words and all that.