An elderly gentleman is lying on his deathbed in his home, surrounded by his family.
Suddenly, he opens his eyes, sniffs the air, and smiles weakly.
“Ah…” he whispers. “Is that my wife baking her famous warm, fresh scones?”
His grandson nods softly.
“Yes, Grandfather. She is in the kitchen right now.”
The old man uses every ounce of his remaining strength to crawl out of bed, shuffle slowly down the stairs, and make his way into the kitchen.
He reaches his trembling hand toward a beautifully golden scone cooling on the counter.
Suddenly, his wife smacks his hand away with a wooden spoon.
“Don’t touch those,” she says sharply. “They’re for the funeral.”
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