An elderly Italian man lay crippled and dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up the stairs.
Gathering every ounce of his remaining strength, he lifted himself from the bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly and painfully made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the railing with both hands he crawled downstairs. Finally, with laboured breath, he leaned against the doorframe, gazing into the kitchen. Where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, cooling on the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favourite anisette sprinkled cookies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his devoted Italian wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, he dragged himself to the table, picked up a cookie and just as he was about to take a bite, his wife snatched the cookie from his grasp.
"Donta you touch," his wife warned. " Those are for the funeral."
or when I care how pretty the case is. To each their own.
