When the power mower broke and wouldn't run, I kept hinting to my husband that he ought to get it fixed, but somehow the 'message' never sank in.
Finally, I thought of a clever way to make my 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 and then went into the house. After a few moments he came out again.
He handed me a toothbrush. "When you finish cutting the grass," he said, "You might as well sweep the drive-way."
The doctors say he will probably live, but it will be quite a while before all the casts come off.
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