When we moved into our house here, we were the first sign that the street was ready for a generation change. The rest of the houses were still owned by the generation that built them back in the 1930's. It was a fine Fall, so I set to work preparing a garden down in one corner of the lot. That meant chopping out the bramble of raspberries that had taken over that corner. So there I was whacking away with a pickaxe and out comes one of the two little ol' spinsters who lived with their widowed and retired cop brother next door. She meanders down to the bottom of her garden, basket on arm. Says she's looking for nettles for soup (in Fall? Not a likely story!) and stops to comment on my work: "Gardening sure does take a man." "Yep [whack!]. Heavy work [whack!]." "Yes, it really does take a _MAN_". "Yep [whack!]. Guess it does [whack!]." She gives up, heads back for the house, then turns back over her shoulder to give it one more try: "By the way, where is your husband?" "He's inside. Somebody's gotta take care of the baby." THAT sent her scuttling inside.