So one day I was alone at home 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 provided the details, so I arranged around 20 on a tray, put them in the oven, set the timer, and exited the kitchen. When it was almost time to get my chicken nuggets, I walked into a cinnamon scented kitchen. 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 processing this, I heard the front door open and my mom cheerfully say, “Ooooo what’s that smell?”. She entered the kitchen and noticed my bewildered expression. Then, it dawned on her, and she understood what had taken place. In some way or another, I had unintentionally baked snickerdoodles. And that is why my parents can never take my cooking seriously.