What Episode Do Homer And Marge Almost Divorce?

After I register my marriage with Gabriella Archer behind everyone's backs, whenever she unlocks a new bedroom position with her childhood sweetheart, Nathaniel Taylor, she tells me that she'll throw a wedding to make it up to me. In three years, Gabriella has brought the wedding up 33 times. Of course, she has broken her promise 33 times as well. The first time she did, it was because Nathaniel's dog had died. In order to pay respects to it, Gabriella told me that she couldn't host any auspicious events for three months. I was still clad in a tux as I kept apologizing and making amends to all of our family, friends, and relatives beneath the stage. The second time Gabriella flaked out on me, it was thanks to Nathaniel's stomachache. She had the wedding car turned around so that she could buy medicine for Nathaniel and take care of him. In every wedding after that, Nathaniel would get into all sorts of troubles and ailments. I fought with Gabriella, and I lost my temper multiple times. But Gabriella often hit me with, "Nate and I are just friends with benefits. You're my actual husband here, so don't be petty." After Gabriella breaks her promise for the 33rd time, I'm finally done with her. So, I slide a divorce agreement in her direction. "The cooling-off period is over, so let's just finalize the divorce."

After my husband, Adam Hargrove, custom-orders the new couch, he's completely obsessed over it. Not only does he insist on sleeping on the couch every night, but he also refuses to let me touch it. I seriously can't take his weird obsession any longer, so I decide to bring up divorce before him at our son's party. Everyone just stares at me in shock. Adam even responds by splashing the wine right at my face. "What the hell are you on about, Lena? I neither cheated on you nor got in contact with any woman out there! Are you seriously divorcing me just because I sleep on the couch every night?" I reply immediately, "That's right!"

Charlotte Crowe's childhood sweetheart started acting up again, which meant she was ready to divorce me again. By then, I had gone numb. I looked at her calmly and said, "This will be the eighth time." Guilt crossed her face as she looked at me, her eyes full of helplessness and pleading. "Gregory, I don't have a choice. You know Victor talks about killing himself every day. I can't just ignore him. But don't worry. As soon as I calm Victor down, we'll get married again." I said nothing. She had said the same thing to me more times than I could count. We got married eight times and got divorced eight times. Even the courthouse staff knew me by now. Behind my back, they said we practically kept the divorce court in business. With the freshly issued divorce papers in my hand, a staff member behind me asked curiously, "So when are you coming back for your next remarriage?" I gave a faint shake of my head. "There won't be a next time."

After losing a bet to her adopted younger brother, Peter Conroy, my wife, Ruth Davis, divorced me for the ninth time. I had told her then that if we remarried for a tenth time and divorced again, I would marry someone else. She only laughed and said, “Will, you even donated part of your liver to me. How could you possibly marry anyone else? Besides, apart from me, who would want to marry a broke loser like you?” On the day of our tenth remarriage press conference, Peter left her a key to a beach house and made a bet with her. If she could find him in three hours, he would stay and wish us a lifetime of happiness. The moment Ruth saw the key, her expression turned hesitant. She tore up the remarriage statement and ran off without hesitation. Three hours later, Peter posted a photo on social media. They were lying on a bed in the beach house and admiring the ocean view. I read the caption. [If someone really cares about you, they will cross mountains and seas just to find you.] Without telling Ruth, I withdrew the remarriage application and made a call I had not made in a very long time. “Julienne, is your proposal from back then still valid?” Her voice trembled with barely restrained excitement. “For you, it’ll always be valid.”

Brad Harrington's executive assistant was having another depressive episode. He pulled out the divorce papers. "It's just paperwork," he said. "Once she's stable, we'll remarry immediately." I picked up the documents, skimmed a few pages, then looked up at him. "I'm walking away with nothing?" His face twisted with impatience. "It's a fake divorce. Are you really going to nickel-and-dime this?" I just smiled and said nothing. Quietly, I signed my name. What he didn't know — I had been waiting for this day for a very long time.

As soon as my husband sat at the dining table, he couldn't stop himself from talking. The humiliations of my school days had become his favorite entertainment, served up to his drinking buddies like appetizers. "Back then, she got her clothes torn off in the bathroom, beaten so badly she crawled on the ground like a dog, too terrified to make a sound. If it weren’t for my kindness—" That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I told him I wanted a divorce. He laughed it off, utterly unbothered. "Seriously? It’s just a joke! That was ages ago. You’re way too uptight—it’s just for a laugh, right?" For a laugh? Was I the only one with a past? Did he think he was untouchable? Maybe I should tell a few embarrassing stories about his precious childhood sweetheart. Fine. If it’s all about “fun,” I hoped his sweetheart found it equally hilarious when her turn came.