Busted mower
Last summer, when the power mower was broken and wouldn't
run, I kept hinting to my husband that he ought to get it
fixed, but somehow the message never sunk in.
Finally I thought of a clever way to make the point. When
my husband arrived home that day, he found me seated in
the tall grass, busily snipping away with a tiny pair of
sewing scissors. He watched silently for a short time,
then went into the house. He was gone only a few moments,
and when he came out again he handed me a toothbrush.
"When you finish cutting the grass," he said, "you might
as well sweep the sidewalks.
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