A Mexican Ruin(ed)
The year was 2008, November to be precise, and I was on my honeymoon in Mexico. My wife and I were staying at a very posh and expensive resort. Seeing as how it was all inclusive, we spent most of the trip lounging around the several pools, drinking copious amounts of alcohol and eating anything and everything in sight. We ordered from room service at at all hours of the night and dined at the many continent and country-themed restaurants that littered the resort. One night we'd go Italian,and the night we'd do Mexican, and so on.
Well, the next morning after one night of eating the seafood paella (probably the calamari) I started to feel the uncomfortable gurgle that was sure to be a hot liquid explosion. Oh, the best part of this feeling was that I was boarding a tour bus from the resort to go to a Mexican ruin. And wouldn't you know it... there was no bathroom!
"Stop the bus," I said. Embarrassed and clenching my butt cheeks, I jumped off the bus before it left the resort with my wife fuming and following behind me. The remaining day my wife was pissed that I "had to eat the strange food" and that "we'd never see this ancient crappy Mexican whatever".
Sadly, the next day I still wasn't feeling any better, and after shitting from sun up to the arrival of the next redemption bus my wife had had enough. She left me in the resort and went on the bus with all these old people and tourists to see Chichen Itza. So, for the rest of my marriage she throws this fact in my face -- that she had to go and get strangers to take her picture alone in front of the steps. I'm pretty sure sitting in shitty pants is a worse story, so I take my chances with her spite.