An old Italian man is on his death bed in his home when he begins to smell what could only be his wife's cooking. The aroma from the kitchen is irresistable, and even as his strength leaves him, the old man's mouth waters, and he forces himself out of bed.
He struggles to reach the door, staggers to the staircase, and begins to climb down his stairs, his nose overwhelmed by the heavenly aroma from the kitchen.
He reaches the base of the stairs, but falls to the floor, nearly exhausted. Despite being on death's door, he finds the strength within himself to crawl across the floor, his only goal to experience one more mouthful of his wife's amazing cooking. He reaches the kitchen, and pulls himself up to his knees at the edge of the kitchen table, where he beholds row after row of tasty ravioli's, all lined up to perfection, all cooked perfectly.
With a shakey hand, the old man reaches for one, his mouth trembling from anticipation, when his hand is smacked away by a large spoon, held by his wife.
"Hey! Get lost!" his wife snaps. "Those are for the funeral!"
