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 sank in. Finally, though, I thought of a clever way to make my point. When my husband arrived home that day, he found me seated out in the yard 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. He was gone only a few moments, when he came out again he handed me a toothbrush. "When you finish cutting the grass," he said, "you might as well sweep the sidewalk too."