So one time I was home alone and it was around dinnertime when I planned to fix myself something to eat. 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. Thinking that my parents must have thrown away the box for box tops, I called my mom to ask how long and at what temperature to cook 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 it was nearly time to take out my chicken nuggets, I walked into a kitchen filled with a cinnamon aroma. I looked around the kitchen, trying to locate the source of the cinnamon smell, which led me to the oven. I decide to turn on the oven light to see if maybe my mom had stuck some cookies in the oven and forgot to bake them, but instead, I find that the tray my chicken nuggets were on has cookies on it instead!. As I’m trying to process what just happened, I hear the front door open and my mom shout delightedly, “Ooooo what’s that smell?”. She walked into the kitchen and saw my puzzled look. Then, it dawned on her, and she understood what had taken place. Somehow, I had inadvertently baked snickerdoodles. Hence, my parents never take my cooking seriously.