Taking a History of Vandalism to the Next Level.

I have no problem with spray painting.  Old sheds that is.

I grew up in a place where there were plenty of old sheds.  And as a Mormon kid dying for some kind of rebellious outlet, I took up spray painting them.  How BA is that?!?!  Allow me to share my portfolio with you:

Exhibit One:  First spray job ever.  Since spray painting is so rebellious, we decided to leave a message somewhat uplifting.  As we were all amateurs, the Mercedes-Benz logo instead of a Peace Sign should be considered excusable.  

Exhibit Two:  Taking things to the next level with the second spray job ever.  Still a somewhat uplifting message (where I'm from the high school rivalries are comparable to world wars), encouraging peace and friendship betwixt the small town enemies.  But to top it all off, we labelled it all as "Gay Pride".  Pretty rebellious right?

Exhibit Three:  Third and last spray job.  The same crew as spray job number one got together to repaint our first shed.  It was a reunion of sorts, since a couple of the friends had just returned from missions.  So we opted for a punny remake of our first.  And we even got the peace sign right this time.

Anyways, I think you get the picture that I'm pretty hard core.  A down right delinquent, if you will.  

Well, on our honeymoon, Juan and I were feeling quite destructive.  We rented a villa for the two weeks we were there, so we had an entire house to ourselves.  And we wanted to "make it ours", if you will.  So we blew up the stove.  Cool right?

Okay, fine, not cool.  I'm just trying really hard to pretend like we did it on purpose.  Because that way we look really hard core.  And also, so our IQ's won't look quite so far below 50 after you find out how we managed to blow up the stove within our first hour of arriving at the villa.  

So, how the story goes, we had just arrived at our villa after half a day of exhausting and extensive travelling.  We were tired, yet most of all, we were hungry.  Our nice landlord had left some pancake mix and eggs in the fridge for us.  So my kind and loving husband started to make us a midday breakfast of champions.  

It took a bit to figure how to work the gas stove, but pretty soon we had 'er lit up and were cooking away on the glass top.  

Let me tell you, it gets mighty hot cooking on a gas stove in a sans air conditioned house on a desert island.  So I slipped away from the cooking to prop our little rotating fan up on the corner of the table before returning back to the stove.

After a minute or two, that stinking fan blew itself off the table with a loud crash.  I rushed over to see if it had broken, and Juan followed shortly.

That's when it happened.  BOOM.  The stove exploded.  Or at least the glass top of the stove exploded.  All over the kitchen.  And all in our food.  Juan tip-toed through the wreckage to turn the gas off.  And then we just stood there.  In shock.

Please notice the glass all over the floor.  And the hinges at the back...

We eventually gained our composure and began to investigate.  That's when we realized the glass top was actually a cover.  A lid.  A topper.  That was supposed to be lifted off the burners when one began cooking.  Oh....  I mean, yeah, we knew that.  We just wanted to see what would happen if you cooked on top of it.  Now we know that it explodes when you do that.

Thankfully, our landlord was nice about it.  He didn't even make us pay for it.  I think he too was in shock that somebody would actually think you could cook on top of the glass cover.  I'm sure Juan and I have gone down in history at that villa as the dumb Canadian tourists that blew up the stove.  

Little do they know, we meant to cause we're hard core!!!   

Okay, fine, we didn't mean too.  Don't judge us.