Since it is "tamale season" for those of us in the south...

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Joseph is laying on his death bed. He's been in hospice care for a week and is expected to pass in the next day or two.

Suddenly, the smell of tamales grabs his attention. The only thing he loved better than his wife's tamales were the ones his mother made when he was a young child.

With every last bit of energy, Joe pulls himself out of bed and makes his way to the kitchen. There, he saw his wife working away on her third batch of tamales while the first batch were cooling on the rack and the second batch were cooking.

As Joe reaches for a fresh tamale, his wife smacks him with the wooden spoon, "Leave those alone, they're for your funeral."