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"You're Lucky, God, That I Can't Reach You"

So, together with their hired hands, they went to gather the hay before the squalls would soak it. Although they all did their utmost, it just wasn't enough, and the rain descended upon them while a considerable spread of hay was still left. Any further effort was useless.
This made the farmer's wife very angry, both at the rain and at him who gives the rain. She grabbed her rake by the head, or close to the head, and jabbed it up toward the heavens as far as she could, exclaiming, "You're lucky, God, that I can't reach you."
The man let no such angry words fall at the time, but it became obvious the following day that he, too, had been offended by the rain. That day, as it happened, was bright and sunny, and when he entered the badstofa (living room) in the morning to eat his breakfest, the sun was shingin right into his face.
The man made short shrift of it, pulled off his pants, and hung them over the window, saying "You didn't shine so brilliantly on me chew of hay yesterday."
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