Reggie was a Norse farmer, married to a sweet ol’ milk maid named Esther. Esther was terrible at housework: she couldn’t cook worth a damn, she couldn’t keep the house clean and free of clutter, and she was the slowest cow-milker and butter-churnerer in all of Midgard. Reggie made sure she knew it, too.
“By Odin’s beard, Esther!” he was oft heard shouting. “You can’t cook worth a damn, you can’t keep the house clean and free of clutter, and you’re the slowest cow-milker and butter-churnerer in all of Midgard!”
One day Esther politely threw down her apron and said, “All right, tell ya what we’ll do: we’ll trade places. Tomorrow, you do the housework while I harvest the wheat.”
The following day, Reggie tried his hand at simultaneously churning butter, milking the cow, grinding and boiling oatmeal for breakfast, keeping the baby from rolling out of the crib, and keeping the pig from tracking mud in the house. The result was like something out of a “Mister Bean” episode as directed by Quinton Tarantino: the butter got knocked over, the pig got kicked to death for licking up the butter, the house was wrecked, the milk bucket got spilled, the baby went MIA, the cow somehow ended up dangling from the roof of the house, and Reggie himself got stuck upside-down in the chimney, his head submerged in the boiling oatmeal pot.
Presumably the wife burned down their crops trying to figure out how a scythe worked.