I don't know why my mother-in-law doesn't accept my offers to cook something for the holidays - or any day, for that matter.

Could it be the smoke that filled half the house when she came today?
Or the lovely smell of burnt sugar?
Maybe it was the gagging and choking, the watering of her eyes.
Or, maybe the lively bonfire inside my oven.

Could it be that this was not the first time she has greeted me in this state?

I don't know why she always asks me to bring a simple lettuce salad or a bag of rolls.

I'm a great cook.