A dying man smells his favourite oat and raisin biscuits cooking downstairs.
It takes all the strength he has left but he gets up from the bed and crawls down the stairs.
He sees the biscuits cooling on the counter and staggers over to them. As he reaches for one, his wife’s wrinkled hand reaches out, smacks his and she yells:
“No, you can’t have those! They’re for the funeral!”