Today, after six weeks traversing the deadly slopes of the Himalayas, rife with human feces and danger, you and your wife will finally reach the summit of Mount Everest. You will, quite literally, have reached the top...of the planet!
You started this expedition as a weak kneed attempt to save your marriage. You’d been trying to explore new ground in more clichéd ways, like by dressing up in costumes or bringing in a black dude, things like that, and none of them were working.
So you, jokingly, suggested that you would climb the highest mountain together to revive your love. Your wife took you seriously, and after six months of training you were off to Nepal to take on the greatest natural challenge in the world.
At first you felt bitter towards your wife for making you drag her up the side of the most dangerous peak on earth. But as time wore by you saw in her a quiet strength you had forgotten. Her beauty as she worked out a handhold with a pick, the glisten of her frozen eyebrows, her excited pants as she nestled next to you for warmth, they all made you realize how little you knew this wonderful woman you’d married.
Unfortunately, when you reach the top the first thing she’ll do is slide her hands down the front of the sherpa’s pants. Then they’ll do it, right there in front of you, in five minutes flat. The sherpa, Jacob, has been seeing your wife intermittently over the last ten years, and this was pretty much just an excuse to get more time with her.
Luckily, by the time you get to the peak someone will have built a bar up there called “H-2-No.” and you’ll be able to run inside and get super wasted super quick thanks to partial oxygen deprivation.
Later you’ll tumble down the mountain to your death after announcing your intention to separate from your wife. She’ll die knowing only your resentment, and none of your newfound feelings of affection for her.
Talk to her while she’s going up the mountain and let her know how you feel. It might not change anything, but it’ll make her less of a bitch when they find out you’re dead. And no one likes a bitter widow.
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