We hide the fudge when the doorbell rings. Call it a family tradition...
The slothful home teacher showed up tonight, bearing a plate of 'goodies' his wife prepared while also plotting to lace his eggnog with strychnine. This is because he waited until the last minute to ask her to make the treats, so if the sugar cookies are so burnt they apparently came out of an oven in Pompeii, "TOUGH, that's what you get, mister, next time use a calendar for crying out loud".
Re-gift the cookies to the president of the Homeowners' Association, and feast on fudge.