I'm making Kringles for Thanksgiving...

Lars Larson, was on his deathbed in an upstairs bedroom. His doctor had said Lars would last for only a matter of hours. Lars woke from a deep sleep and sniffed. His wife must have just returned from the bakery, and the aroma of freshly baked kringles bought a spark to Lars. He whispered, "If I could just have a taste of kringle before I die, it would make my dying sweeter." He mustered every ounce of strength and got out of bed. Slowly he made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. there he spied two kringles on the counter. Just as he was reaching out to take a piece, his wife swatted his hand away. "Stop that," she said. "We're saving these for the funeral."