So once I was home alone and it was around dinnertime 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. As the timer was about to go off, I entered a kitchen that smelled like cinnamon. I searched all over that kitchen, trying to find the cinnamon scent, leading 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 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’s why my parents can never take my cooking seriously.