So one time I was home alone and it was about dinner time when I chose to cook something for myself. I opened the freezer and rummaged around until I found what looked like chicken nuggets in an unopened plastic bag that, for some reason, didn’t have any cooking instructions. Assuming my parents had thrown away the box for box tops, I called my mom to ask about the time and temperature for cooking chicken nuggets. She provided the details, so I arranged around 20 on a tray, put them in the oven, set the timer, and exited the kitchen. As the timer was about to go off, I entered a kitchen that smelled like cinnamon. I looked around the kitchen, trying to locate the source of the cinnamon smell, which led me to the oven. I turned on the oven light to see if my mom had maybe left some cookies in there, but to my surprise, the tray I had put chicken nuggets on now had cookies on it!. While processing this, I heard the front door open and my mom cheerfully say, “Ooooo what’s that smell?”. She walks into the kitchen and catches my confused expression. That’s when the spark ignited and she realized exactly what had happened. Somehow in some form, I had accidentally baked snickerdoodles. Hence, my parents never take my cooking seriously.