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 against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the banister with both hands, he crawled downstairs.
With labored 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 here, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table, were dozens of his favorite scones.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted Irish 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, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His lips parted, he could almost taste the scone before it was in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life.
His aged and withered hand trembled on its way to the nearest scone at the edge of the table, when his beloved wife suddenly smacked his hand with a spatula.“Get off!!” she said, “they’re for the funeral!!”