So once I was alone at home and it was about dinner time when I chose to cook something for myself. I opened the freezer and dug around until I found what appeared to be 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 ask how long and at what temperature to cook 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 searched all over that kitchen, trying to find the cinnamon scent, leading me to the oven. I turned on the oven light to see if my mom had maybe left some cookies in there, but to my surprise, the tray I had put chicken nuggets on now had cookies on it!. 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. At that moment, it clicked, and she realized exactly what had happened. Somehow in some form, I had accidentally baked snickerdoodles. And that’s why my parents can never take my cooking seriously.