An elderly man lay dying in his bed.
While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite cheese 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 an even greater effort 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 here, spread out on waxed paper on the kitchen table were dozens of his favourite scones…
Was it Heaven?
Or was it one final act of devoted love from his beloved wife of sixty years, making sure he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one final effort he threw himself towards the table. Landing on his knees in a crumpled posture, his parched lips parted, he could almost taste the scones before they were in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life.
His aged and withered hand reached it's way to the nearest scone at the edge of the table........when…
Whack...a spatula hit him on the back of his hand.
'**** off!'...shouted his wife.
'They're for the funeral.'