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, and 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”.
He will be just fine when they take the casts off.