An elderly man lay dying in his bed. While suffering agonies on his way to his final moment, he suddenly smells 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, gripping the wall, he slowly makes it to the kitchen.
There, piled on a tray are 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 spoon......
An elderly man lay dying in his bed. While suffering agonies on his way to his final moment, he suddenly smells 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, gripping the wall, he slowly makes it to the kitchen.
There, piled on a tray are 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 spoon......
'F*** off' she said, 'they're for the funeral.
Aussie Paul.