A SWEET STORY ABOUT ITALIAN COOKIES...
>
> This is for all the Italians out there, and those who are lucky enough
to be
> married to an Italian, and even to all the 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. Wit h
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. His 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.
>
&g t; "Get outta here!" she shouted, "They're for the funeral!"
>
> This is for all the Italians out there, and those who are lucky enough
to be
> married to an Italian, and even to all the 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. Wit h
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. His 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.
>
&g t; "Get outta here!" she shouted, "They're for the funeral!"
