On a random Thursday at approximately 6:53 p.m., I came to a very sudden revelation: the vast majority of my friends, family, and acquaintances were under the impression that I, a self-proclaimed history nerd, was an arsonist. Was this a particularly shocking realization? No, perhaps not. I don’t consider myself unobservant, and it would take a dense fool to turn a blind eye to every effort that has been made to keep me 286 inches away from any kind of flammable object, fuel, or lighter.

What I did find surprising were the assumptions. 

Why was it immediately assumed that I was an arsonist from only a slight appreciation of fire and explosives? After all, I could just be a pyromaniac with tendencies for destruction, which, in my opinion, is vastly different in so many ways that I could probably spend four hours, 23 minutes, and 18 seconds detailing to unfortunate witnesses.

I think it is very safe to assume that I have nothing to do with any fire-related incidents. In the incredibly unlikely chance of a neon orange truck abruptly exploding in an entirely accidental burst of flames, I would assure you that I am not currently in possession of any steel gray propane powered blowtorches found in the area of the incident. Anyone with further questions should probably forget them.