So one day 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. Assuming my parents had thrown away the box for box tops, I called my mom to find out the cooking time and temperature for 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 looked around the kitchen, trying to locate the source of the cinnamon smell, which led 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 walked into the kitchen and saw my puzzled look. Then, it dawned on her, and she understood what had taken place. Somehow in some form, I had accidentally baked snickerdoodles. And that is why my parents can never take my cooking seriously.