An elderly Irishman lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending¹ death, he suddenly smelled the aroma² of his favourite cheese scones⁴ wafting⁵ 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 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 here, spread out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table were dozens of his favourite cheese scones.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted⁶ Irish wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man? Mustering⁷ one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled⁸ posture⁹. His parched¹⁰ lips parted, he could almost taste the cheese scone³ before it was in his mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life.
The aged¹¹ and withered¹² hand trembled on its way to the nearest scone at the edge of the table, when his hand was suddenly smacked¹³ with a spatula¹⁴ by his wife... "Get OUT! "she said, "they're for the funeral!"

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