Lousianna Coon*ss women are TOUGH!
Boudreaux lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending
death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite beignets wafting up the
stairs. He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed.
Gripping the railing with both hands, he crawled downstairs. When he reached
the bottom of the stairs, 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 hundreds of his favorite beignets as only Clotil could prepare.
Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from Clotil, his wife of
sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?
He threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a crumpled
posture. His parched lips parted, the wondrous taste of the beignets was
already in his mouth. With a trembling hand he reached up to the edge of the
table, when suddenly he was smacked with a wooden spoon by his Clotil.
"Stop," she said. "Those are for the funeral."
