The sick Mexican husband was laying on his death bed.
He had only hours to live when suddenly he smelled tamales.
He dearly loved tamales more than anything else in the world, especially his querida Rosita’s tamales.
With every last bit of the energy left in his mind and body, the terminally ill husband pulled himself out of bed, across the floor, down the hall, and into the kitchen.
Here, his wife was removing the fresh batch of tamales from the stove top.
As he reached for one of the freshly made tamales, his corazon, Rosita, smacked him in the back of the head with a wooden spoon: “Leave them alone, pendejo! …They’re for your funeral!”