Since baking is being discussed.......
An elderly man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of
impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite biscuits
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 waxed paper on the kitchen table
were
literally hundreds of his favourite biscuits.
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,
landing on his knees in crumpled posture. His aged and withered hand
trembled towards a biscuit at the edge of the table, when it was
suddenly
smacked by his wife with a spatula.............
"F#ck off" she said, "They're for the funeral."
An elderly man lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of
impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite biscuits
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 waxed paper on the kitchen table
were
literally hundreds of his favourite biscuits.
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,
landing on his knees in crumpled posture. His aged and withered hand
trembled towards a biscuit at the edge of the table, when it was
suddenly
smacked by his wife with a spatula.............
"F#ck off" she said, "They're for the funeral."