So once I was alone 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 find out the cooking time and temperature for chicken nuggets. She gave me the instructions, so I placed about 20 on a tray, put them in the oven, set the timer, and left the kitchen. As the timer was about to go off, I entered a kitchen that smelled like cinnamon. I looked around the kitchen, trying to locate the source of the cinnamon smell, which led 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!. While processing this, I heard the front door open and my mom cheerfully say, “Ooooo what’s that smell?”. She walks into the kitchen and catches my confused expression. Then, it dawned on her, and she understood what had taken place. Somehow in some form, I had accidentally baked snickerdoodles. And that’s why my parents can never take my cooking seriously.