So one time I was by myself at home and it was nearing dinner time 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. Believing my parents had discarded 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 explored the kitchen, trying to identify where the cinnamon scent was coming from, and it brought 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 walks into the kitchen and catches my confused expression. At that moment, it clicked, and she realized exactly what had happened. In some way or another, I had unintentionally baked snickerdoodles. And that’s why my parents can never take my cooking seriously.