I am not the world's best gardener. Not that I don't try, I do. My thumb seems to be brown, not green. It is only through the grace of God that flowers and the occasional tomato do arrive in my back yard; not by my hard work.
The other day I noticed a rather large weed growing out of our driveway and I remarked to my husband, "Hmm, look at the size of that weed growing up through the concrete." That casual remark was designed to spur him to run into the garage and grab the RoundUp weed killer and be manly man and kill that weed. He was busy and that's okay, too.