I baked a couple dozen chocolate chip cookies this afternoon...some to share, some not to share (yum, yum). The first pan turned out nicely, those went on the "share" plate. The second pan ended in disaster, leaving a pretty slim "not share" plate. As I pulled the second batch from the oven, the pan slipped, and half the cookies slid into the bottom of the oven. The other half, still hot and gooey, smushed together.
I intended to clean the cookies out of the oven as soon as it cooled down. But I forgot. Fast-forward a few hours to dinner time, I turned the oven to 425° to brown some rolls. FYI...a 425° heating element is hot enough to catch a cookie on fire. David was the first to notice the smoke billowing out the back burner, and when I opened the oven, I was shocked to see the flames. I gasped and said the "F" word that no child should hear...fire! David and I then heard Luke scream, "Let's get out of here!" as he scrambled for the back door. Between putting out the fire and frantically fanning the smoke in hopes to prevent the smoke detector from going off, we got a good laugh at Luke's "I'm getting the heck out of here" attitude.



After things settled down, Luke casually strolled back in the house and said, "Guess that cookie's done."