Oh, The Horror! Your Honeymoon Horror Stories Are Here

The good news is that, basically, you all pooped your pants on your honeymoons! The bad news is that you all pooped your pants on your honeymoons.

I suspect a round-up is in our future. Until then, let’s get to the stories of everything that went wrong on your honeymoons.

First up is sandpaperblues‘s story of some unwelcome honeymoon tag-alongs:

My mom is a travel agent, so when my sister wanted to book a cruise for her honeymoon, she got our mom to book it so they could get the best deal possible during spring break (money was tight as my sister was going back to school).

Mom found the perfect cruise and booked it for them, only to then reveal that her and my dad were already booked to be on the SAME CRUISE. Her argument: “It was a good deal, and it’s a big ship, we’ll never see each other.”

I picked all four of them up from the terminal when they got back and my first question was, “So, did you run into each other?”

I got a terse, four-way “Yes” but no elaboration.

Speaking of that which is unwelcome, how about the thank you gift that the Jack B. Hateses left for the proprietress of the Irish B&B in which they stayed?

My first trip away with my husband (so a pre-honeymoon, if you like) we stayed in a cute little B&B in the west of Ireland run by a little old widow. We had never shared a double bed before (students!) so we made the most of it during our three day stay. And we were using condoms, but the septic tank would not have been able to cope with flushing them down the toilet, and we didn’t want to leave them for the little old widow lady to see, so my not-husband-then took charge of them. Specifically, he put them in a paisley-patterned paper bag that we’d got in a shop somewhere. It looked kind of gift-y. I can still see it. He’d sling in the used condom and fold over the top and remember, we were students, so it didn’t seem TOO gross to want to throw them all away in one go rather than sneaking them out past the sweet little old widow who always engaged us in conversation every time we came in or went out of her sweet little country home full of crucifixes and pictures of Jesus and little prayers for happy travelling and the like. We were very careful about our bag of used condoms. When we packed on the last day, we put it on the bed with our bags, ready to sneak out to the car. On the handmade, brightly coloured quilt, that was purple toned like the bag.

Yeah. We left the bag behind. It must have looked exactly like a gift we’d left our sweet little old B&B proprietor. A thank-you present. A fuckton of used condoms.

We’ve never been back.

Call it personal bias, but I just had to include Zerenity‘s story of discovering that she’s allergic to Tide (me too! me too!):

My honeymoon on the California coast last year was completely wonderful except for one small, horrific detail. I had done a load of laundry at my new apartment right before we left and I used my husband’s laundry detergent*. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it turns out that I am allergic to Tide. For the first two days of our trip I somehow managed to wear only clothes that I had washed previously with my normal detergent, so I didn’t have any problems, but on the afternoon of the third day I started itching like crazy all over everywhere. I thought maybe it was just because it was hot and I had been sweating, but when we got back to the hotel and I stripped down, I found tiny, angry, red hives covering my entire body from my neck to knees. I had even washed my bras and underwear with the Tide detergent, so nowhere was safe. Let me tell you, having hives on your nipples is one of the worst experiences ever.

Needless to say, this was highly inconvenient for our newly-wed, going-at-it-like-rabbits lovemaking. Every time he touched my bare skin, it felt like a thousand tiny, flaming needles were stabbing me. I bought some anti-itch skin cream and slathered myself with it several times a day, but it only managed to dull the sensation a little. We had to utilize whatever creative, hands-off positions we could think of, and I would take a cold shower before and afterward (which was the only thing that would soothe my itchy skin and give me some small modicum of relief).

We ended up hand-washing my clothes in the hotel sink and I reused as many of the Tide-free clothes as I could, but the last few days of our trip were less than ideal. As soon as we got home, I threw out the Tide, bought some allergen-free detergent on the recommendation of a friend, and washed everything I owned with it. I have never had a problem since then, but it still took another week and a half for the hives to go down afterward.

I still have very fond memories of my honeymoon, and we had a lot of fun. I can joke about it now, but at the time when it was happening, I definitely thought I was going to die of itchiness and embarrassment in front of my new husband, who was sweet and patient and loving and kind throughout the whole ordeal. I’m so glad he didn’t decide to divorce me while I was sitting on the bathroom floor naked, sobbing to my mother on the phone.

*N.B.- We did not live together before we were married, which is why I had never used his detergent before. (Gasp! I know, shocker. Some people still do that.)

Somewhat laundry-related, there were lots of period stories, but WhitneyClaire takes it for her husband’s droll response:

I got my period. Not a huge deal but on the way home (we missed our flight so it was was was later one) I took my earrings out and they started bleeding and my husband said, “you’re just bleeding from anywhere, hey?!” I was slightly horrified.

Over on the other end of things we have RenoDakota‘s tiny shart:

My new husband and I were staying in one of the top rated hotels in the entire world in a location where you should be careful about drinking the water. We had this special romantic dinner the night before involving a private chef. It was hella dreamy. But in the middle of the night, I woke up with my belly rumbling. I was so sleepy, I didn’t even think twice about letting out a little toot while my husband slept blissfully beside me… Until I realized it was a shart. Like a tiny little shart, but a shart nonetheless. My first thought was to mourn my fabulous lingere. Second thought was about how embarrassed I was going to be if it left a shit stain on the sheets in this fancy hotel. It didn’t, but the pretty panties were a loss. I took a bath in my big ass bathtub and went back to bed. In the morning, I put the little sign on the bed asking the cleaning staff to change the sheets. I later figured out that the culprit was probably the lobster broth in one of the courses the chef made the night before.

There were loads (ugh, sorry) of other food poisoning stories that ended with you pooping here, there and everywhere, but the bug that Jaya Saxena caught upon returning from her honeymoon was by far the most bizarre of the “I got sick” tales:

The honeymoon itself was great but I managed to get strep on my leg on the flight home. For about a week and a half after we got back I had these bug bites that just would not heal, and were getting increasingly pussier and gooier and gross. Then I woke up with a fever, and it turns out I had basically strep throat but all over my shin. I guess that’s a risk of spending 24 hours in a metal tube with hundreds of other people.

But, for sheer pathos, this week’s best honeymoon horror story comes from keepcalmcarryon: