Someone Must Be Playing a Joke On Me.

I'm starting to think that we may have a ghost living with us. A ghost who's sole purpose is to help the little man get into situations which without said ghost he would not be able to do. 

For example, today I went to answer the door for the Viking repairman (don't even ask.) I left the little man sitting 6 feet away from me playing on the floor. About 20 seconds later I walked back into the living room to find this.

Yes, that is the little man, and yes, he is on top of the table. OK, joke's over. Yesterday he couldn't get on the table let alone the chair. Clearly, someone or something is helping him. Right?

"Why sit on the table when it is so much more fun to stand?" the little man inquired.

When I questioned him about his accomplice he gave me the silent treatment. 

Finally I was able to convince him to sit down. A compromise we'll call it. 

And back to our morning breakfast.

This kid is clearly going to be the death of me.