âThere was a man lying upstairs in his bed, very close to death. He could smell the aroma coming from the downstairs kitchen where his wife was cooking pierogi. He couldnât believe after 50 years of marriage she still loved him so much she would be making pierogi for what was most likely his final meal. He somehow got out of bed and crawled down the stairs to the kitchen. As he reached for the platter on the table filled with the freshly made pierogi, his wife slapped his hands away and said, âHey, get away, those are for your funeral.â"
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