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An elderly Irishman lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies
of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate
chip cookies 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 railing
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 there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were
literally hundreds of his favorite chocolate chip cookies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted
Irish wife of sixty years, 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 parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in
his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life. The aged and withered hand
trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was
suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife......
Fuck off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite chocolate
chip cookies 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 railing
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 there, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were
literally hundreds of his favorite chocolate chip cookies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted
Irish wife of sixty years, 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 parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the cookie was already in
his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life. The aged and withered hand
trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was
suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife......
Fuck off" she said, "they're for the funeral."
