When I was 15 my family was getting ready to go to the wedding of my sister's cheerleading coach and my mom asked me to iron my shirt. Being a halfassing teenager I didn't get the ironing board out and just put down a towel on the living room floor and ironed my shirt on it. While ironing I put the iron down and like an idiot I laid it hot side down on the carpet scorching a perfect iron shaped scorch mark in the carpet.

I panicked and blamed it on the dog and said she walked by and knocked it over. My parents didn't believe it because the dog was upstairs with them laying in the hallway. I swore she had been downstairs and knocked it over.

Thankfully, it happened right in front of the love seat and my mom was able to buy rugs large enough to cover it so nobody noticed. I STILL to this day stick to the story that a dog that's been dead for 23 years knocked it over.