Really Takes The Biscuit
Posted: Tue Apr 29, 2003 9:49 am
A man lay dying in his bed. In death's final agony, as he started to
slip
away, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite chocolate chip
cookies
wafting 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 forced himself down the stairs.
Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs defying
the
pull
of Morpheus. With laboured breath, he leaned against the doorframe
gazing
into the kitchen. Were it not for the immense pain caused by his
extreme
exertions, he would have thought himself already in heaven for there
spread
out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table - were hundreds of his
favourite
chocolate chip cookies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his
devoted
wife,
seeing to it that he left his world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, with tears in his eyes, he threw
himself
toward the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His
parched
lips
parted. The wondrous taste of the sweet biscuit was already mentally
in
his
mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life. He felt renewed strength
pulsate
through his body. The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to
one
lone
biscuit at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a
spatula
by his wife..........
"F*ck off," she said, "they're for the funeral."
slip
away, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite chocolate chip
cookies
wafting 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 forced himself down the stairs.
Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs defying
the
pull
of Morpheus. With laboured breath, he leaned against the doorframe
gazing
into the kitchen. Were it not for the immense pain caused by his
extreme
exertions, he would have thought himself already in heaven for there
spread
out upon waxed paper on the kitchen table - were hundreds of his
favourite
chocolate chip cookies.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of heroic love from his
devoted
wife,
seeing to it that he left his world a happy man?
Mustering one great final effort, with tears in his eyes, he threw
himself
toward the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His
parched
lips
parted. The wondrous taste of the sweet biscuit was already mentally
in
his
mouth, seemingly bringing him back to life. He felt renewed strength
pulsate
through his body. The aged and withered hand trembled on its way to
one
lone
biscuit at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a
spatula
by his wife..........
"F*ck off," she said, "they're for the funeral."