If you’ve seen Bridesmaids, this story may sound somewhat familiar to you.

But this was no movie, my friends. This was real-life and it sounds pretty horrific.

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When @m_digennaro asked for a custom greeting card for her MOH + bridesmaids, this gem of a scene instantly came to our minds . . . #christinekhouryillustrations #itshappening

A post shared by Christine Khoury (@ck.illustrations) on Jan 3, 2019 at 7:20am PST

A “bridezilla” who had been drinking some health shakes to attempt to curb some bloating ending up paying a very steep price…in the way of poop.

Here is the tale in its entirety, from a throwaway Reddit account that couldn’t be traced (good thinking). This is a long story, but trust me, you’ll want to take the whole thing in.

I work as an event planner. It was the wedding of two fairly wealthy families, and the bride had decided on a rather rural, “shabby chic” aesthetic. The reception, she decided, would take place on family property, in a historic barn.

This caused a huge flurry of issues, between having to have the barn cleaned, the fact that we needed auxiliary tents as the barn wasn’t large enough, and the fact that the property lacked electricity and running water. The latter was solved with a bank of generators, tubs of water for catering, and a side tent with port-a-johns hidden inside.

The bride had, to be honest, been quite a bridezilla, but it’s my job to deal with those things. At this point, the ceremony had ended, cocktail hour is shutting down, professional photos were taken. We were prepping to transition to the entrance of the bridal party, which would be followed immediately by first dance and cake cutting. During this, the dinner would be staged, so every aspect was being fairly carefully timed out.

I was speaking to the caterer when I happened to glance over and see the most curious blend of expressions pass over th brides face, and she frantically waved down my assistant. A few moments later, my headset beeped on, and my assistant said “we have an issue”. It turns out that the bride had gambled on a fart and lost in a big way.

Now, the bride was wearing a huge, full ball gown, with a fitted, bones strapless top in a sort of embellished mesh. Underneath, she had a shaper garment and hoops and slips. We had already realized there was zero way of her going to the bathroom: we had issues getting her into a limo, and having her use a portajohns meant one of us would have to get personal. That was my assistants job. I radioed to everyone to expect a fifteen minute delay, and they headed towards the tent.

The fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty. Finally, my earpiece beeps on. “The previous issue is more than we anticipated.” I ran over to find my assistant looking horrified.

The bride, it turns out, had been using some health shakes in an attempt to fix last minute bloating. This had mixed poorly with the cocktails from earlier, and she had eaten a fairly decent breakfast. The substance that had come out of her body as a result defied explanation. It was slimy, oily even, with stringy bits and the consistency of hair gel. Not only had it been a rather profound accident, but the smell was unrivaled. Generally, a substance no human body should emit.

But the thing that set it over the edge was that the shaper the bride wore was a latex deal that came down over the thighs and up to her bra. Waterproof, the poo had just sort of filled it, like a water balloon of horror. My assistant had opened up the snap crotch and just released the evil trickling down the brides thighs.

My assistant quickly sealed it back up and she and the bride vainly tried to wipe up the goo, dry, with toilet paper. This just spread it around, so they decide to give up.

Now I have a shell shocked assistant and a crying bride. You can smell her four feet away. The bride is just flipping out that she’s making her guests wait, that she has a choreographed dance waiting to happen, and she needs to be introduced NOW. I’m just looking at her manicured nails. Residue of diarrhea are just imbedded in her nail bed.

I start trying to scrape the poo out with a fabric stain wipe, while the bride insists that the show must go on, immediately. I give in that this is an issue which will have to wait, and signal to start introductions. The groom looks vaguely disconcerted by his new wife’s odor, but I tell my assistant to distract him until they take the floor. Introductions happen, the dance starts, and we find some fresh horror.

The dance was a choreographed affair, and as the groom spun his bride around, hand on her waist, he is squishing the poo up the insides of the waist trainer, up and out the back waistband. To our horror, we watch as a oily stain spread across the mid back of the gown. As we are still cringing from this, the groom sets his hand firmly in the middle of the poo stain.

Action had to be taken as soon as the couple left the dance floor, it was obvious, and I left my assistant in charge while I made preparations. She kept radioing me: the stain was spreading, she could smell the poo from her spot by the dj. They were cutting the cake now. They were feeding the cake to each other, both now with shit stained fingers. Each was looking downright repulsed.

As they left the dance floor, I had someone rush wet naps to the groom and to bring me the bride. The support tent was closed down for me, and I pulled a tub of clean water from the caterers. She walked in to find me in dish gloves and a poncho, like American Psycho, The five minutes, I was sponging down a sobbing, naked bride, while I questioned every life decision that lead to this point.

The diarrhea was everywhere, spread in a thin layer across her body. It may be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever dealt with. With her clean, I threw away the waist shaper, and scrubbed down the $15 k wedding gown back in a plastic basin. The inner lining was a loss, and I cut it out completely.

Dressed again, and offered a Xanax, the bride was little worse for wear, except for missing her dinner. The support tent smelled like a sewer and just was closed for the remainder of the event. The groom was a sport, never directly saying anything, but asking if we could cancel the garter toss as he didn’t really want to go under her skirt.

Pictures from the event appeared in a magazine. Still photos, away from the smell, were beautiful.

Well, at least the photos were good?

Yikes, that is too much…

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