For all the Italians out there, or those who are lucky enough
> to be married to an Italian, or even to be friends of Italians
> . . ..
>
>
> An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed.
>
> While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled
> the aroma of his favorite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up
> the stairs.
>
> Gathering his remaining strength, he 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 labored breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the
> kitchen. Where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
> already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the
> kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette
> sprinkled cookies.
>
> Was it heaven?
>
> Or was it one final act of heroic 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 threw himself towards the table,
> landing on his knees in a crumpled 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 trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge
> of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his
> wife.....
>
> "Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral.".
> to be married to an Italian, or even to be friends of Italians
> . . ..
>
>
> An elderly Italian man lay dying in his bed.
>
> While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled
> the aroma of his favorite Italian anisette sprinkle cookies wafting up
> the stairs.
>
> Gathering his remaining strength, he 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 labored breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the
> kitchen. Where if not for death's agony, he would have thought himself
> already in heaven, for there, spread out upon waxed paper on the
> kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favorite anisette
> sprinkled cookies.
>
> Was it heaven?
>
> Or was it one final act of heroic 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 threw himself towards the table,
> landing on his knees in a crumpled 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 trembled on its way to a cookie at the edge
> of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his
> wife.....
>
> "Back off!" she said, "They're for the funeral.".
