An elderly man 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
with even greater effort, 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 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 rumpled posture.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 sthingy.........................
f**k off' she said, they're for the funeral!
