So once I was home alone and it was nearing dinner time when I decided to make 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 about the time and temperature for cooking chicken nuggets. She told me both of them, I laid out about 20 on a tray and stuck it in the oven, setting the timer before I walked out of 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 turned on the oven light, thinking my mom might have left some cookies inside, but I found that the tray with my chicken nuggets was actually filled with cookies!. While I was trying to understand what had happened, I heard the front door open and my mom exclaim, “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. Somehow, I had inadvertently baked snickerdoodles. And that’s why my parents can never take my cooking seriously.