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Return-path: [log in to unmask] From: [log in to unmask] Full-name: MartyF25 Message-ID: <[log in to unmask]> Date: Thu, 12 Aug 1999 07:09:49 EDT Subject: cookie MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Mailer: AOL for Macintosh sub 53 To: undisclosed-recipients:; > An elderly man lay dying in his bed. In death's agony, he suddenly > smelled the aroma of his favorite 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. > > With labored 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: there, spread out upon newspapers on the kitchen table > were literally hundreds of his favorite 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 this world a happy man? > > Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself toward the table, > landing on his knees in a rumpled posture. His parched lips parted; the > wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth; seemingly bringing > him back to life. > > The aged and withered hand, shakingly made its way to a cookie at the > edge of the table, when it was suddenly *smacked* with a spatula by his > wife. > > "Stay out of those," she said, "they're for the funeral." >