Here - let me paint the picture for you. My brother and I were given the task of pulling all the weeds in our backyard. It was summer, our mom was at work. So I'm 12 or 13, which puts my brother at 10 or 11. We're out pulling weeds, angry that we have to because come on it's freaking summer break!
We're done pulling weeds, and the prospect of bagging them and taking them to the trash is too much. We had video games to play, dammit!
I get this brilliant idea to burn the weeds. Duuuuuuude! We could totally set them on fire! Then we don't have to bag them and we get a show! Fuck yeah!
We get the lighter and light them on fire.
It was awesome.
It was glorious.
Until the fence caught fire.
Then it started sucking.
Unfortunately, I don't have a pic of said backyard, let alone a pic of it all ablaze.
But I made you an artist's representation:
See, that's me in my globular like dress running from the flames. Not that I was wearing a dress at the time. I was totally a tomboy and liked pants a tee shirts at that age . . . .but that's not the point of the story. The point of the story is that I SET MY BACKYARD ON FIRE Y'ALL!
We put the fence out quickly and buried all the ashen weed bits. I'm not sure if my mom ever found out.
Unless she reads my blog and then I'm totally busted.