Irish wife

[erection2015]

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 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**k off' she said, 'they're for the funeral.