Food for thought
Food for thought
An elderly Irishman lay dying in his bed. While
suffering
the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled
the aroma
of his favourite scones wafting up the stairs.
He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself
from the bed. Leaning on the wall, he slowly made his
way
out of the bedroom and, gripping the railing with both
hands, he
crawled
downstairs.
With laboured breath, he leaned against the
door-frame, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for
death's
agony, he would have thought himself already in
heaven, for
there, spread out upon the kitchen table were
literally hundreds of his favourite scones.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from
his
devoted wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left
this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself
towards the table. His aged and withered hand trembled
towards a scone
at the edge of the table,
when it was suddenly smacked by his wife
with a wooden spoon ......
.........
.........
F**k off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
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