It should be noted that after this, the smoke detector continued to go off every few minutes for the remainder of the baking time. Windows were opened, insults were shouted (my neighbors are now intimately acquainted with just how I feel about "those damn cookies!"), and upon inspection, it seemed something in the bottom of the oven (and not my beautiful cookies) was responsible for the smoke. However, fixing the problem meant pulling out the smoking spilled food-covered foil from the floor of the oven, which meant getting out the oven mitts, which unfortunately meant this:
Here's a fun fact about me you probably wouldn't know unless you lived with me: I'm famous for burning things in the kitchen. Spatulas, wooden spoons, pots, dishrags. How I rationalize this is that a) I spend a disproportionately greater amount of time in the kitchen (cooking) than either of my two roommates, and b) when I cook, the probability of my using any given utensil is increased greatly. So in conclusion, it's not really my fault that I scorched half of the pair of mitts that so perfectly match our chair cushions. It's just probabilities.
And for all the grief they put me through, the cookies turned out pretty tasty. AND in case you were worried, Haley and I did in fact finish "The Office" season premiere, albeit 10 minutes later than we should have.
"Think of all the feet that have been here!"
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