The Broken Lawnmower
During the 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 while, 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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