IRISH LOVE STORY
>
>
> 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
> himselftowards 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**k 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 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
> himselftowards 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**k off" she said, "they're for the
> funeral."
