A dying man smells his favorite oatmeal
raisin cookies cooking downstairs. It takes all the strength he has
left but he gets up from the bed and crawls down the stairs. He
sees the
cookies cooling on the counter and staggers over to them. As
he reaches
for one, his wife’s wrinkled hand reaches out, smacks
his and she
yells:
„No, you can’t have those! They’re for the
funeral!“
