So once I was home alone and it was around dinnertime when I chose to cook something for myself. 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. Thinking that my parents must have thrown away 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. When it was almost time to get my chicken nuggets, I walked into a cinnamon scented kitchen. I searched all over that kitchen, trying to find the cinnamon scent, leading 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’s why my parents can never take my cooking seriously.