When Dayo asked me to marry him, I ran to my wedding books and Pinterest boards to begin the planning of my dream wedding! The only thing I was even more excited about was our honeymoon! Years before we got engaged, Dayo and I always spoke about honeymooning in Paris. It was a place I longed to go my entire life! So just two days after we set our wedding date, I got on the phone with our travel agent to schedule our 8-day trip to Paris and the South of France!

In the weeks counting down to our romantic getaway, I took all of the responsible steps one would take when traveling outside of the country. I registered us with the U.S. Embassy in France, made sure our passports were up to date and called our banks to let them know we would be using our cards overseas. I felt confident that the trip would go off without a hitch.

Neither of us had ever been to France, so naturally, we packed basically everything that we owned. We also brought $1000 in cash with us, as well as one of our debit cards and one of our credit cards- both Bank of America (trust me, that part is important). We figured we would use our debit card while we were down there, the cash as back up and our credit card as a back up to our back up. Totally being responsible ass adults, right?

Day 1

The moment we landed in Paris I just knew this was where I was meant to be. Everything you see in the movies about Paris is exactly how it is in real life – skinny cobblestone streets, beautiful architecture, couples riding bikes with baguettes sticking out of their baskets; it was all just gorgeous.

Don’t get me started on the food! I am the biggest foodie you will ever meet, so Paris was literally a dream come true! Everywhere you looked there was mussels and frites, freshly baked breads, cheese shops and much more. My husband, the fashion guru, also found himself in pure paradise as Paris is a designer smorgasbord!  It was heaven. ­­

We went to Paris wanting to do a few touristy things, but we also wanted to experience the city as the locals did. We had our travel agent book a few things in advance (Disney World Paris, a cooking class, snorkeling and our train ride from Paris to Nice-South of France), but we kept the rest of our schedule pretty open to leave room for impromptu activities.

When we checked into our hotel, I saw a large sign on the front desk that read “Moulin Rouge Dinner and Show.” For those of you who don’t know, the Moulin Rouge is a famous, Parisian burlesque-style show. It was our first night in Paris and we wanted to do something really nice. This was perfect! We asked the concierge to book tickets, she happily agreed and asked for the payment. I gave her my debit card and waited patiently. About three minutes later, she told me my card had been declined. “Whet?”

This was insane. I checked our account and there was absolutely no reason the card should’ve declined. Regardless, it wasn’t working, so I gave her my credit card instead.

“I’m sorry, mademoiselle. This card was declined too.”

Ex-squeeze-me? At this point,  I wasn’t just embarrassed, I was pissed. I checked the credit card account and that was all good too.

“No. No. No. There must be some kind of mistake. Please run it again.”

She ran the card again.

“So sorry. It is not going through.”

“Well can I pay cash?”

“Unfortunately, Mrs. Pedro, you cannot because we have to schedule everything online. So sorry. “

I’m just standing there looking dumb AF and broke AF. Thankfully, Dayo was already upstairs, dropping off our bags. He is so very easily embarrassed that if he had been with me, he probably would’ve just jumped behind a bush and hid. I had no other choice, but to take my card back and walk my miserable ass upstairs.

I got to the room and explained the situation to Dayo. He told me to calm down and just call the bank. He was sure it was just a simple mistake that could easily be fixed. When I got the bank on the line they told me that they weren’t sure what was wrong, but they had fixed the issue and we would have full access to our funds in the morning.

“This is why we brought cash, Babe. Everything will be fine.”

Dayo was right. It was only the first night and we had plenty of cash for this reason specifically. ­We decided to get dressed up and catch a cab to a nearby, well-known restaurant nearby. Even though it wasn’t the Moulin Rouge, the food was amazing and we looked cute AF so I was content with our makeshift plans. After hours and hours of travel, we decided to turn in early so we could get a fresh start in the morning.

We clean up pretty nice:)

Cash left- $895

Day 2

We woke up early to go to breakfast in the hotel – which was included with our reservation. This was no continental breakfast. This was a gourmet, mouth-watering, delectable breakfast buffet. I’m talkin’ freshly baked artisan pastries & breads, aged cheeses, made to order crepes, sausage, bacon, roasted potatoes, rich coffee and champagne for the fancy bitches.

On the outside I was pretending to be the classiest person in the room, on the inside I kept screaming to myself “I can’t believe this shit is free”, while stuffing my face with multiple chocolate croissants.

We had about two hours to kill before we had to head over to our cooking class, so Dayo insisted that we stop by the mall. I normally loathe any shopping that isn’t online but I saw a poster on the outside of the mall with photos of multi-colored macarons, so I was sooo down.

As soon as we walked in the mall I headed straight for the macaron kiosk. I got one of each of the 15 flavors which brought my total to a whopping $45. I know what you’re thinking, “FORTY-FIVE DOLLARS FOR SOME COOKIES?!?”. It’s ridiculous, I know, but macarons are my absolute favorite cookies and the best macarons were in Paris, right?

Anyway, I handed the woman at the kiosk my card and she passed me my beautifully boxed cookies. I took out a salted caramel macaron and stuffed it in my mouth. It was literally one of the most delicious things I’ve ever had. Before I could finish devouring my delectable treat, the cashier cleared her throat and said, “sorry to umm… disturb you, but your card did not go through.”

Shocked, I dusted the sugary crumbs off of my face and swallowed the remainder of my cookie. Fuuuuucccckkkkk. You’ve got to be kidding me. It happened again. Instead of even trying my card again, I just pulled out my cash to spare myself the embarrassment.

I somberly walked over to Dayo with my head hung low and my shirt covered in cookie crumbs. I looked like a toddler who just got abruptly snatched away from an all-you-can-eat pancake buffet. It was a mess.

“It’s ok, Babe. This is why we brought cash. It’s Saturday so the issue probably won’t be fixed till Monday. It’ll be fine.”

He was right. There was no point in me freaking out about our cards. It was the weekend after all and everyone knows banks don’t do shit on the weekend. So I threw caution to the wind and happily munched on macarons while Dayo tried on and purchased a few shirts.

We headed over to our cooking class where we shopped at the local farmers’ market, prepared duck and tomato/goat cheese towers and devoured our culinary creations. It was everything.

Tomato Goat Cheese deliciousness

Duck in a fresh cherry sauce made by yours truly.

Day 3

For remainder of the weekend we visited the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, multiple restaurants, took cabs everywhere and a did bit more shopping. We used cash for all of our weekend fun with the assumption that our cards would be working by Monday. What. A. Couple. Of. Idiots.

Day 4

Cash left: $450

Day 4 was our last day in Paris before we hopped on a train and headed over to the South of France for the remainder of our trip. It was the day I was most excited about because we were catching the Paris subway to go to DISNEYLAND PARIS!!!! I was totally stoked. Dayo? Not so much. But ya can’t please everyone, right?

When we got to the subway station, we needed to buy our passes to get to the Disneyland station. How crazy is that? The subway station had a Disneyland stop. Anyway, the ticket booth provided the perfect (and discreet) way for us to test our cards to make sure that they were actually working again. So I swiped our debit card for our $18 tickets and *drum roll please*-

the card was declined.

Panic set in. I was freaking tf out. We had been in Paris for 3 1/2 days and our emergency cash stash was depleting by the second. Furthermore, it was going to be nearly impossible for me to be frugal and budget today. We were heading to the happiest place on earth where the prices for a simple meal are anything but “happy”. The good news was that we had already paid for the tickets for the park, so we were good to go on that end.

On the way to the park,  I called the bank, yet again, and demanded that our card situation be fixed immediately. They apologized profusely and said they didn’t know why the cards weren’t working. The woman assured me that the problem would be rectified and we would finally be able to use our cards the next day.

Even though I was very skeptical, the woman was so convincing that I believed her almost immediately. I’m not usually gullible at all (I’m naturally paranoid), but the excitement of visiting Disneyland Paris trumped any bit of fear I had.

Fuck it.

Stuffing my face on $15 cotton candy like an idiot…

Day 5

Cash left: $295

The next morning, we woke up early because we had a train to catch. We were headed on the second leg of our honeymoon and had a little under $300 left for the remaining three days of our trip. We tried our cards at the train station. Again, they didn’t work. Thank God we prepaid for our train tickets before we left the states. At this point, I was completely freaking out internally, but I tried to keep my cool because I didn’t want to ruin our honeymoon with panic and anxiety.

We both knew that cab rides, food and drinks alone would eat up that money. We sat quietly on the train racking our brains as to how we could solve our money issue.

Something weird happens when you enter a beautiful place. Your breath is literally taken away and all of your worries are gone. This is what happened when the train rode along the Nice coastline. To this day, it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Nice

Nice is a small town off the coast of the South of France with black rock beaches and buildings literally built into the hundreds of cliffs that line the coastline. Majority of the food served is freshly caught seafood, there are casinos everywhere and mostly everyone was riding a moped or walking. Let’s not forget the jewelry vendor stands on nearly every corner and the giant shopping mall that Dayo and I couldn’t even look at since we were technically broke.

The beauty of this city didn’t allow me to panic (at least not immediately). When we arrived at the hotel I had to sit down, wrap my head around our finances and figure out how to make our money stretch for the remainder of our trip.

Our bomb ass travel agent once again set us up with a hotel that served an amazing and free breakfast. AND since it was our honeymoon, we got a free dinner at the hotel restaurant that just happened to be highly ranked for its delicious menu.

So now I had to stretch $300 over 3 lunches, 2 dinners, cab rides around town and a cab ride to the airport. It would be tight, but we could do it.

Photo during our walk around town

The first night we decided to get dinner and explore the city. We walked around for hours just talking, eating gelato and truly just enjoying each other’s company. When you have two kids, full time jobs and a 145 lb dog, Ace (another story for another time) quiet time is much needed.

With all of my anxiety over the whole card mishap, I forgot the simple task of enjoying my honeymoon and spending quality and quiet time with my husband. It was magical.

Our blind journey led us to one of the largest casinos in Nice. Dayo is by no means a gambler, but for some reason he just could not resist going into the casino. Somehow he had gotten it into his mind that we were going to win big and be able to spend the rest of our trip balling out of control.

I am normally a mega control freak, but somehow I allowed Dayo to convince me that it was a good idea to bet $120 of our money at the casino. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that we didn’t win big. Hell. We didn’t even win small.

When we got back to the hotel, I called the bank yet again.  This time I was in full-blown tears. I was practically begging them to figure out a solution for our problem because we were straight broke. Again they said that they didn’t see a problem on their end and that the card would be ready to use by the next day. Yeah. Ok.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Day 6

Cash left $100

The next morning, we went downstairs to eat breakfast and again I was blown away with how delicious everything was. I tried to hide my face of pure anxiety from Dayo all morning, but having only $100 while across the globe is such an unsettling feeling.

“We’ll be fine, Babe.”

At this point we even reached out to our parents to see if they could wire us some money. Unfortunately, we were not near any locations that offered wire transfers. We had no choice, but to be smart and cheap AF.

It was time for our scuba excursion, which we paid for in advance. Side note: I am deathly afraid of sharks, so I was fully convinced that I was going to die. When the time came for me to jump in the water, I quickly switched myself from diving to snorkeling. I punked out. And even snorkeling proved to be terrifying for me.

Dayo had absolutely no fear in his heart, dove deep under water with the instructor and left my scary, goofy butt floating on the top of the ocean. While waiting for Dayo to finish, my dumb ass doggy paddled in a circle around the boat. I needed to be close enough to the boat that if shit popped off, I could just hop on quickly and worry about Dayo after I was safe. No fucking way was I getting eating by a shark. No fucking way.

Another side note: I learned how to swim when I came out the womb AND I was on the swim team in high school for 2 years. So the fact that was doggy paddling made absolutely no sense. Fear will do some strange things to you.

Picture from the boat

When the excursion was done, Dayo and I were starving. We stopped at a little bistro and got salads and sandwiches that didn’t set us back too bad. We decided that we would use our free dinner this night to avoid spending more money on food. In the meantime, I wanted to hit the beach. It was free after all.

The whole beach trip lasted all of 35 minutes. I’m all for showing what you got, but the amount of geriatric men in speedos I saw that day was enough to last me a lifetime. Prune balls stuffed into  Barbie-sized bikini bottom is not my idea of a good time. So we bounced.

We decided to take another walk. I REALLY wanted gelato, sooooo I got gelato.  That left us with $50 for the last day of the trip. The cab ride to the airport was $30 and we would still have $20 to grab a few snacks for the plane. We could actually do this.

Our walk, once again, landed us in front of the casino. And you know what Dayo’s ass said?

“Babe, let’s just bet what we have left. Come on. It will be fun!”

I don’t do anything unless it makes logical sense. I do not like to live my life off of chance and I am in no way a gambler. So that’s why, to this day, I can’t believe that I allowed Dayo to convince me to bet our LAST FIFTY DOLLARS at a Texas Hold’em table.  SMDH.

We sat at the table, Dayo handed me $25 worth of chips and he kept $25. I didn’t even know how to fuckin play the game. Dayo knew the very basics of the game but was nowhere close to being a pro.  If it wasn’t for the free drinks the bartenders were bringing around, I probably would’ve just burst into tears right there at the table.

I just started placing chips on different circles on the green table. I put my elbow on the edge of the table, rested my miserable face in the palm of my hand and watched the music videos they had playing on the giant screens.

I just knew we were going to lose it all.

All of the sudden I heard, “AYYYYYEEEE!!” and then a bunch of people screaming loudly in French. I turned to see what all the fuss was about and everyone was looking at me. Even Dayo was looking at me, but he doesn’t speak French either so he was just as confused. The dealer tried to tell me something, to which I replied, “I’m sorry but I don’t speak French.”

“You just won… how do you say… one thousand five hundred American dollars!”

I nearly passed out.

GET TF OUT OF HERE!!!!!! HELL YEAH! HELL FUCKING YEAH! I ran up to Dayo, jumped into his arms and we made out like to horn ball high schoolers in a 1990’s teen romantic comedy. We grabbed our chips, cashed out and marched our happy asses over to the mall. We spent an easy $600 in just under an hour.

Then I saw a RayBan store that had the most beautiful rose gold, circular glasses. I just had to have them. I walked in like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. When it was time to pay, Dayo said, “Just try using the card. I want to see what happens.” Even though I was perturbed, I did it  to appease my husband. And you know what? That mother fucker of a card went through. What kind of sorcery was this? BEST DAY EVERRRRR!

Me, Dayo and My new Ray Bans. Fuck em’ up Sis.

The next 24 hours were a blur as we pretty much just shopped, ate and drank as much as we possibly could. We deserved it after all. And even though we spent 80% of our trip budgeting, we actually ended up not only saving money, but earning some extra dough too.

Our trip to France was one of the most stressful trips I have ever been on in my life. But on our flight home, I creepily stared at my new husband while he slept thinking about how in the midst of all my anxiety, he kept me calm and assured me everything would be ok. And we worked as a team the entire trip. I knew this was just another sign from God that we would be wonderful partners in life… even though he gets on my last nerve.

The post My Honeymoon in France! – 8 Days In France, No Access To Our Money And A Lucky Night At The Casino appeared first on The Funny Momma.

I’d like to start off by stating that I was a very calm bride. I didn’t ask my bridesmaids for a lot (or at least I didn’t think so), I didn’t have any bridezilla meltdowns AND I kept my cool the entire day of my wedding. As I stated in my previous post, I am known to be very dramatic over very small things but when it comes to important situations, I always keep my cool.

In the beginning stages of our wedding planning, we opted for something small; and by small I’m talking 150-200 guests. Compared to the average ceremony, that may seem like a large wedding. But when talking about a Nigerian/Mexican/Black wedding, it’s really is small. Put it this way, by the time we finalized the guest list, we were at 350 guests. Here we go again.

The theme was soft glam with a little bit of Gatsby thrown in the mix. After months of searching I finally found the perfect venue to fit my exact theme.  We chose The Belvedere in Baltimore;  a 100-year-old venue that was perfectly preserved and embodied everything I envisioned. The only problem was the capacity. It could only fit 290 with a dance floor and 360 without a dance floor. What the fuck kind of wedding doesn’t have a dance floor? I didn’t know how we were going to do it, but I knew we were going to use that venue, have a dance floor and squeeze all 350 guests inside.

After weeks of back and forth with the Belvedere staff, I had them agree to fitting 325 guests in the space WITH a dance floor. Now what to do with the extra 25 guests? Easy fix! NO KIDS ALLOWED! That simple change chopped off 26 names from the guest list. Sayonara SUCKAS!

Side note- we did allow our own kids and the flower girls (my nieces) to attend the wedding. We’re not complete monsters after all.  

My dress was surprisingly easy to pick, however it was a totally different style than I had in mind. I went in the shop thinking I was going to pick a lace, mermaid style dress that hugged my curves and was super Jessica Rabbit-ish. I pulled a few from the racks that fit what I had in mind and right before I went to try them on, I noticed a little nook in the back of the store with a small collection of gowns.

All the way in the back, tucked in a corner was a beautifully simple, Italian silk dress that had a sweetheart neckline and a princess-style skirt. It was nothing like what I thought I wanted, but for some reason I couldn’t put it down. I had to at least try it on.

If you’ve never tried on a bridal gown before, let me tell you that it can get awkward AF. You have to strip down to just your underwear and a random pair of heels (that the shop provides), while a stranger helps you wiggle your ass into mounds of tulle and lace. Before zipping everything up they ask you to grab your boobs and lift them up so they stay in a decent position in the dress. Very Fifty Shades of Grey like.

Anyway, I tried on all of the other dresses first and my family loved one in particular.  They thought it was PERFECT for me. I really liked it too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the mystery dress I had waiting for me in the dressing room. Before I made a decision, I had to at least try on the other dress first. It took forever for me to get into the dress because there were about 35 hooks along the back of the dress. But as soon as the consultant hooked the last button, I was in love. I knew it was the one when the consultant told me that this dress was handmade by the owner of the boutique. It  was one of a kind and it was mine.

I had found my dress!

Finding my bridesmaids dresses was a pain in the ass. I had nine bridesmaids and a junior bridesmaid, so shit got real. Some were tall. Some were short. Some were thin. Some were curvy. Some were willing to splurge on a dress and some were on a tight budget. Talk about STRESSFUL! Nothing is worse than having to buy a dress you completely hate just cause the bride made you do it. I did not want to be THAT bride.  I wanted everyone to be happy, but finding the perfect dress for all of my girls seemed nearly impossible.  

There was way too much going on, so I put the task of finding the perfect dress on my bridesmaids. All I asked was that the dress be blush pink and floor length. After what seemed like an eternity of searching, two months before the wedding, my bridesmaids decided on a dress. It was blush pink, floor length,  fit everyone’s budget, complimented everyone’s shape and would make it here just in time for the wedding. AMEN! Everyone just needed to get their measurements done by a tailor so the dresses could be properly sized. Easy peezy, right?

Let’s move on to the actual week of the wedding. EVERYONE was still exhausted from our huge engagement ceremony that took place the week before, but there was plenty of work to do and no time for rest. The Monday before the wedding, I had the final fitting for my dress and I could barely keep my eyes open in the boutique. Like, I literally fell asleep while waiting for my dress. For the rest of the week, if I wasn’t picking someone up from the airport I was confirming final details with my florist, cake decorator (no way I was about to make another cake), photographer and venue coordinator.

A real picture of me asleep at the bridal parlor.

Even though I was tired AF and had a task list longer than me to complete, I felt confident that the wedding would go off without a hitch. That is until four of my nine bridesmaids let me know that their dresses  didn’t fit properly. Remember when I said they had to go to a professional tailor to get sized? Welp, these bitches skipped that part, took matters into their own hands and measured themselves. What a bunch of bozos. 

My actual task list 5 days before the wedding…

Some were too big and others were too small. Regardless, it was a shit show and we only had FIVE days to fix it. I called my favorite seamstress in the world, Ms. Abigail, to the rescue.  It was a race against time, but she got it done. Thank you, Jesus.

Now on to the next situation – the wedding favors. I wanted something everyone would be wowed by and would actual want. Nothing I found seemed snazzy enough, so I opted to make the wedding favors myself. I decided on what I can only describe as a sugar cookie stack. It was a stack of gold brushed sugar cookies, sandwiched together with a blush pink buttercream, sprinkled with gold edible glitter and topped with a gum paste rose. All of this would be presented in a clear, plastic gift box. I know it sounds like a lot, but it was beautiful. Trust me on this.

Each “stack” had four  cookies, which meant  I had to bake 1300 cookies, make 20 lbs. of icing and 325 gum paste roses, two days before my wedding. I’m sure you’re wondering if I was just an overachieving bride or a complete psychopath. Psychopath for the win.  Anyways, my incredibly amazing bridesmaids came over in shifts and for hours we assembled and packaged all 325 favors the night before the wedding. Again, thank you Jesus.

That night, me, my mom and my sisters stayed at the hotel  we were going to be getting ready at  on the wedding morning. Everyone went to sleep early, so that we could wake up rested and refreshed. Much like the morning of the engagement ceremony, I woke up a little earlier than everyone else, so that I could have a little peace before all of the chaos. 20 minutes later the room was filled with bridesmaids, hairstylists, photographers, makeup artists and family members who just came by for support.

My mom set my hair and I was pretty much done because my makeup artist was going to slay my face at the actual venue. There were two makeup artists and things were moving a little slowly so my older sister Bonnie and I started doing some of the bridesmaids’ makeup. My mom had taught us how to slay tf out of our makeup when we were young, so we are basically professional MUAs.

Basically.

I take much pride in saying that I surround myself with strong, independent women who don’t take shit from anyone. That’s awesome and all, but a room full of strong, independent bridesmaids who don’t take shit from anyone can get pretty crazy.

“I need my hair curled early because it takes a while for it to set.”

“Who is gonna put on my damn eyelashes?”

“I don’t like to wear a lot of makeup, so I need a simpler look.”

“I’m hungry. Is anyone getting food?”

“My feet already hurt and I didn’t even put my shoes on yet.”

“Who took my eyebrow pencil?!?”

A little too crazy for me. I just sat in the corner of the room trying to blend in with the curtains cause all of this chaos was tew much for ya girl. I secretly texted Pam, my maid of honor, and asked her if she wanted to sneak out and head over to the venue early. She nodded, I went into the back room to grab my dress and heels, and we snuck out the side door of the suite. We texted everyone from the uber, to let them know that we had left and even though they were shocked I left, they let it slide.

When Pam and I arrived at the Belvedere, the event coordinator greeted us at the door.

“Hello Katryce! Your bridal suite is on the 3^rd floor along with your bouquets and the men’s boutonnieres. Is there anything I can get you right now?”

Pam and I politely screamed, “WINE!”

She nodded and said she would have it brought upstairs.

Pam and I were only at the venue for about 20 minutes before my makeup artist arrived. That 20 minutes and a bottle of wine was more than enough time for Pam and I to get good and tipsy. By the time my makeup artist walked in I was singing Marvin Gaye and telling her how beautiful she was. It was glorious.

When the rest of the bridal party got there, they brought the chaos with them. Some people couldn’t find their shoes. Others were getting too hot, so their edges were curling up. But nothing was crazier than what happened to my baby sister, Zari. She was one of the bridesmaids that measured herself,  which resulted in her dress being a little snug. So snug, in fact, that when Zari bent down to strap her shoe, her zipper popped.

Most people would freak out, but we kept it cool. Thankfully, our mother also taught us the basic fundamentals of sewing. A few bridesmaids held Zari’s dress together while Bonnie literally sewed Zari into her gown. This was a great fix, but peeing proved to be a tricky task for Zari throughout the night.

After hours of commotion, it was finally time for me to get married. Other than the fact that we started 45 minutes late because half of the guest list arrived late, the ceremony went smoothly and everything was beautiful. 

Now it was time to party! We had an open bar, so things went from 0 – 100 real quick. From Dayo’s brothers who just barely turned 21 to my grandmother who is known to throw back the tequila shots, EVERYONE was getting wasted. We partied, danced and had an amazing time.

When the wedding was over, the bridal party insisted on an after party. It was 1 in the morning, we were too drunk to change our clothes and too lazy to yelp which bars were open. So my entire bridal party walked down along the Baltimore harbor, in our wedding attire, looking for a bar to get even more wasted. My husband helped me hold my dress up as we walked blocks and blocks looking for our next move. After about an hour of stumbling around the streets of Baltimore and hundreds of cars honking at the “street bride”, we turned around and walked back to the hotel. We posted up in the lobby of the hotel and had a shitload of pizza and wings delivered to the hotel. It was the most perfect after party.  

This next part gets a little TMI, but if you guys aren’t used to my TMI by now, we’re not as close as I thought we were. SO all night my husband kept talking about “when we get back to the hotel room”… I’ll spare you the details, but I’m sure you guys know what I’m talking about. So when we finally get back to the hotel room, I couldn’t wait to get out of my dress.

There was just one problem, remember those 35 hooks on the back of my dress? My husband was too drunk and honestly too uncoordinated to unhook even one. I told him I would be right back and would find my sister to unhook my dress. When I walked out of the room and suddenly remembered that I didn’t know anyone’s room number! I kept calling everyone and no one would answer! So here I am at 3 am walking up and down the hallways of this giant hotel whisper screaming into each room “Mami?! Bonnie?! Zari?!”

I looked like an idiot.

Finally, after about 30 minutes, I gave up and decided that I was just going to have to “get busy” while wearing my dress. I walked into my room to find my bestie Britt passed out on the couch in the living room area of our suite. I woke her drunk ass up and after about 20 minutes of fumbling around, she was able to focus enough to unhook my dress.  I found my way back to my room door, fixed my hair and boobs, and opened the door.

“Baaaaaabbbbbe. I’m baaaaack.”

I was expecting to find my husband, eagerly awaiting his bride, so we could intertwine in the many positions of the Kamasutra. Instead I found my drunk ass husband halfway hangin’ off the bed, snoring heavily. Even though I was disappointed, it was at that very moment that the exhaustion of the past two weeks took over my body. I climbed into bed next to my new husband and crashed. Besides we would have the rest of our lives to make sweet sweet music, right?!

[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kCwGm8RI4o[/embedyt]

Scroll down to see a few more pics from the wedding:)

The post Best Day Ever! – Bridesmaidszillas, DIY Wedding Favors and Getting Stuck in my Wedding Dress appeared first on The Funny Momma.

When the time came for me to get married, I already had the whole thing planned out, including the people that would help me create my perfect day. What I didn’t know was that planning a Nigerian wedding is NOTHING like what I had expected. I know you have questions, so let me explain.

The moment Dayo slid that ring on my finger, it was as if someone had waved a checkered flag in front of my face because I was off like a race car driver (read all about our crazy proposal story here). I pulled out my secret wedding planning book that had every single detail of our upcoming wedding  (I had been hiding the book from Dayo so he wouldn’t know I was a complete psychopath). I picked up a million and one wedding magazines and started my wedding Pinterest boards.

It was about to go down *in my best Kevin Hart voice*.

While I was waist deep in floral arrangements and interviewing caterers, Dayo told me that his father insisted on hosting an engagement ceremony. In the Nigerian culture, the engagement ceremony is often times more important than the actual traditional wedding. Dayo warned me that the planning could get a little crazy and maybe we should just pass, but it was so important to his father that I didn’t have the heart to say no. His dad assured us that this would be a small event just to make sure we honor the traditions of their culture. Besides, I’m always down for a party (click here to read all about how I made a fool of myself at Dayo’s cousin’s engagement ceremony).

The next week, Dayo’s father asked us to come over for a small meeting to discuss the details of the engagement ceremony. When we arrived, a woman I didn’t recognize answered the door.

Dayo: Auntie!

Auntie? I had never seen this woman before. However, Nigerians have more aunties, uncles and siblings than you will ever met in your entire life, so I figured it was just a family member I had never met before.

She smiled at Dayo and then re-adjusted her focus on me.

Woman: Ahhh. Hello. You must be the bride.

Me: Um, Yes. Hello. *nervous laugh*

Woman: Follow me to your wedding dreamland.

Me: *under my breath* …what the f-

Me to Dayo: So that’s your father’s sister?

Dayo: No. Never met her before.

Side note: In the Nigerian culture, if you don’t know an older woman’s name, you call them Auntie just to be safe. In my experience, and with my terrible memory, this trick has come in handy on multiple occasions.

”Auntie” had transformed the entire living room with mounds of white tulle, feathers and sparkles. 4 mini tables were set up with different place settings in various colors and heavily covered in rhinestone. I had no clue what this was about.

She led us to the dining room so we could discuss the details of what I thought was just a small get together, but again, I was wrong.

I thought this meeting would just involve Dayo’s father, Dayo, the planner and myself. To my surprise, every single one of Dayo’s actual aunts and uncles were sitting around the dining room table. Bright, colorful fabrics lined the tabletop and I was offered a glass of Merlot which I gladly took.

Dayo’s Dad: Ah Katryce. Welcome. We are so happy that you all are here. And I see you’ve met the event planner.

“Auntie” smiled and waved.

Dayo’s Dad: Let’s begin. We are inviting 400 guests, so we have a lot to discuss.

Excuse me? 400 guests? Where?

We were there for 7 hours. I kid you not. Discussing not only the colors that Dayo and I would wear, but the colors the immediate family, extended family and special guests would wear as well. We chose the floral arrangements, the invitations, the caterer and the table settings.  At this meeting, I also learned that I was supposed to wear three different dresses during the ceremony but I opted for just two.

More and more, this felt less like the small engagement party I had assumed it was going to be and more like the actual wedding. And on top of everything, I agreed to make my own cake. The engagement ceremony was to take place one week before my actual wedding ceremony!!! Yeah. Jesus take the wheel.

Side note- Little known fact. I went to culinary school and used to run a cake business from home. The business ended when I was tired of dealing with people who wanted a $1000 cake but only wanted to pay $20. Girl Bye.

Wait – let’s hit rewind because I left out an important part of the meeting. My mom showed up about 3 hours into the meeting and started up with her typical Jacqui shenanigans.  You see, she is a VERY proud Mexican woman and although she loved and admired the Nigerian traditions, she was not about to sit back and allow our culture to be pushed aside. She insisted that we heavily incorporate Mexico into the engagement ceremony.  I mean a full blown Mariachi band, traditional Mexican attire, tamales and giant flowers in everyone’s hair. Oh and did I mention that she wanted her husband, my step-dad to play his violin with the Mariachi band and my aunt (who’s a professional dancer) to have a special performance. My engagement ceremony was turning into a damn circus.

My father-in-law cherishes family and values tradition, so he happily obliged to her requests. The only thing he asked of her was that after wearing her Mexican attire, she change into a Nigerian ensemble. Her exact words  were, “ABSOLUTELY! I love a good costume change!” Folks. Welcome to the Jacqui show.

Side note- My father-in-law also asked me to ask my dad if he would like to wear a traditional Nigerian outfit. My dad responded with a simple, “I’m black. I’ll wear a tie.” My dad’s not one for the theatrics.

Since I was so focused on planning our wedding ceremony, I took a step back and allowed my in-laws to take the lead on the engagement ceremony. This went pretty smoothly until it was time for me to pick my fabric for my dresses. You see I am a very simple person. I don’t like sequins, I don’t like jewels and I don’t like beading. I also only like nude/neutral colors. This was a big no-no to my in-laws as bling and color is a huge part of their culture. However, I was not willing to bend on this. After months of deliberation, my in-laws finally realized I wasn’t going to break. So I settled on a traditional red in honor of my Mexican roots and ivory for my Nigerian attire. I got my “boring” fabric and I loved it.

The week of our engagement ceremony, I barely even got to see Dayo.  While his parents had him running errands for our upcoming engagement ceremony, I was running errands for our wedding that was going to take place the following week. I had to pick family up from multiple airports, go to a million and one fittings, find wedding shoes and finalize a million and one other small details for BOTH ceremonies. Let’s not forget that I also had to bake a cake that fed 400+ guests the night before the ceremony. I’m getting anxiety all over again just thinking about it.

By the grace of God, I made it to the day of the ceremony without running away and joining a convent. I woke up early that morning to enjoy a little peace before things got chaotic. That peace and quiet only lasted a good 20 minutes before the house was full of hairspray, curling irons and women walking around looking for eyelash glue.

I tend to be overly dramatic and anxious on a regular basis. However, I am oddly calm in hectic surroundings. I wasn’t scheduled to have my hair and makeup done until we arrived at the ceremony venue, so while everyone else got all dolled up, I sat quietly in the corner, sipping on hot coffee and watching the show. Once everyone was done, we hopped in the car to make our way to the venue.

I wrongfully assumed that the venue would be empty aside from the event planner and her staff. To my surprise, when I walked in all of Dayo’s brothers and cousins were there dropping off giant cases of booze. Let me tell you now that the most awkward thing ever is walking into your place of celebration, your bridesmaids are all glammed to the gawds and you look like Charlize Theron in Monster. I bee-lined it to the dressing room and slammed the door behind me. Thankfully, the most incredible make-up artist EVER, Toshia, was already set-up and waiting for me. Let the slay begin.

About an hour later, the dressing room is packed with my bridesmaids, mom, aunts, grandma and my mom’s whole glam squad (my mom is a top hair stylist/colorist in the U.S. So yeah, she’s got a squad). Everyone was getting zipped into their dresses,  getting their flowers pinned in their hair and finishing touches on their makeup. The ceremony was supposed to start in about 5 minutes, but there was one problem- Dayo and the his groomsmen were nowhere to be found.

My face shows how irritated I was.

All of the sudden we heard a bunch of hustle and bustle next door in the groom’s dressing room. I sent a few bridesmaid spies next door to see what all the commotion was about. Three minutes later, my sisters came back and reported  that my soon to be husband and EACH of his FOURTEEN groomsmen were shit-faced drunk. I was furious. I wasn’t even mad about the fact that they were wasted. I was pissed that was 4 o’clock in the afternoon and not one person had offered me a damn drink! I sent Zari  back over to the guy’s room to get some booze. They sent her back with a bottle of Hennessy that was less than half way full. What a bunch of assholes.

The bottle was enough to give myself and all of the bridesmaids one shot. That shot got me through the next two hours I spent inside the dressing room waiting to be summoned to come out. You see, because I was so focused on the American wedding, I didn’t ask many questions regarding the engagement ceremony. So I missed the part  about the bride not coming out until the second half of the ceremony.

The wait felt like forever. A big part of the ceremony is the introduction of the families. Each side of the bride and groom’s families are announced and came out to their preferred music/entertainment. My in-laws came out to Nigerian drummers and singers. My extra-ass mom and her family were introduced to the guests with a mariachi band, salsa dancing and a Flamenco performance by my Aunt. This was no longer a ceremony, it was a Broadway production. It was only supposed to be a five-minute introduction, but my family danced out there for well over 20 minutes. Thank GOD I wasn’t out there to witness the Rodriguez show.

For those of you wondering, my dad and his side of the family did not participate in the Mexican Hat Dance. 1. Because they’re not Mexican so that would be a little awkward. 2. The Davis’ are low key and like to play it cool. They snuck in through the side entrance and made their way to their seats.

Next it was Dayo’s turn to go out. I ran over to a back curtain to take a peek at my future husband and by the fluidity in his dance movements, I knew he was pretty fucked up. Dayo is more of a two-step kind of guy and the man I saw out there was pop-lockin and droppin. Don’t get me started on his boozy groomsmen. It was a mess. Regardless, they all looked so nice and my soon-to-be husband was lookin’ like a damn snack- okkuuuurrrr. He wore ivory and gold while the groomsman wore this pretty shade of teal. His choice of entrance music? Wizkid. Wizkid is like the Drake of Nigeria. And Dayo’s drunk ass was feeling every bit of that song.

By the time it was my turn to go, it was nearly 8pm. The event started at 4pm. I was pissed TF off, but relieved that it was finally time for me and my girls to go out. My first dress was very Mexican inspired and oddly resembled the emoji of the woman dancing in the red dress. My bridesmaids wore off the shoulder, deep teal dresses that came knee length. I stood at the curtain, waiting to come out and took a deep breath. I just knew when they opened the curtains, my guests would be taken aback by me and my beautiful bridesmaids.

OKKKKUUUUURRRR

Welp. Joke was on me. Cause by the time we walked out, all my guests were drunk. Loose off the Goose drunk. I mean what did I expect? They had already been drinking for the last four hours and we had a whole hell of a lot of booze. At this point of the ceremony it is basically the presentation of the bride but I had to wear a vail because the big reveal happens when I wear the traditional Nigerian clothing. So I walked to the middle of the floor to Daddy Yanke (the Latino Lil’ Wayne) and we danced while all of Dayo’s family showered me in cash. The cash made the whole 4 hour wait not so bad and motivated me to shake my shoulders in the most Mexican way I knew possible.

[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KssdqHMHaa8[/embedyt]

I was then guided off the stage back to the dressing room for my next change. I didn’t even get to say a word to Dayo! All this work for a dress everyone was only going to see for just 5 minutes? On top of everything I was hungry, sober, hot and irritated. But on the plus side- I was about $600 richer.

My sisters helped me take off my dress, but before I changed into the next dress, I demanded a drink. Ok. A couple of drinks. Even though everyone was waiting for me, it was my turn to have a little fun. So me, my sisters and a few of my bridesmaids took shots, on shots, on shots. I got dressed in my gown, got my Gele tied, my sisters got theirs tied and we were ready for part 2.

This time when we walked out, we came out to my favorite WizKid song. And we were lit AF. We were poppin’ and shakin; and shakin and poppin’ all over the dance floor. The DJ loved it so much that he didn’t stop at one song, he played two more! Thank God I was buzzed and couldn’t feel my feet.

The next hour was a lot of praying and kneeling and words of affirmation and more praying. It was all very beautiful but I was secretly hoping that things would wrap tf up. FINALLY, after about 45 minutes of prayer in Yoruba dialect that I did not understand at all, they said “you may now kiss the bride”. THANK YOU JESUS! Even though Drunko Skunko could barely find my lips due to his beer goggles, we kissed and the party was ready to start!

Everything after that point was pretty much a blur. I just remember them joining me and Dayo’s hands, playing Juvenile “Back That Ass Up” (that’s when my black side came out) and then waking up in my bed, with my dress halfway off, one shoe on and Dayo asleep in the bathroom near the toilet. Based on the pictures I saw the next day, everything was beautiful! (Scroll down if you want to see more pics!)

End all be all, the small, intimate engagement ceremony was everything but small and intimate. And you know what? I wouldn’t go back and change a thing. Nigeria is rich in traditional culture and celebration and I’m proud to say the I too am now an “Auntie” lol.

Make sure you tune in next week when I share the story of my actual wedding and my bridesmaids-zillas!

The post My Big Fat Nigerian Wedding- When Mexico and Nigeria Collide appeared first on The Funny Momma.

I’m known for being a lot of things, but I don’t think being a bitch is one of them. Or at least I hope not. I try to be kind to everyone and considerate of their feelings. However, just because I’m not a bitch by nature, that doesn’t mean I don’t have bitchy days. And trust me I have had very bitchy days. Especially the day and I got proposed to.

My family takes celebrating holidays very seriously. My mother, my sisters and I have divided up the holidays so that each one of us has a holiday to host at their home. My mom takes Christmas, my older sister Bonnie takes Thanksgiving, and Zari really doesn’t give a shit about hosting, so she just contributes a dish to everyone’s respective holiday.

My holiday, has always been Easter. I love spring. I love brunch.  And I love me some Jesus. So it’s only right that I claim Easter as my holiday.

Every year, I host a very elaborate brunch for Easter. I’m talkin’ hams (yes multiple), quiche, French Toast casserole, home fries, pasta salad, donuts, croissants, mimosas – the whole enchilada. Per tradition, once brunch is over, we have an Easter egg hunt for all of the kids. It’s a pretty awesome shindig if I do say so myself.

Easter 2018

When Dayo (my then boyfriend/now husband) and I moved into our first home together, we had been together for three years. This was a big deal for us and our relationship, ESPECIALLY since we weren’t married. I had spent the previous 8 months dropping hella hints about my desire to move in together and get married. It took some work, but after extensively complaining to Dayo that I know longer wanted to live in separate homes, he caved and succumbed to my request. 

Side note: I do not condone pressuring a man to do what you want. It can often times backfire on you and take a turn for the worst. However, sometimes you gotta make demands, if you want to move things along. And I’m a woman that prides myself on “getting’ shit done”…so there’s that.

This particular Easter was very exciting for me because it would be my first Easter that I was hosting in my own home. Normally I would host at my mom’s. So I went all out. Everything was perfect. I had the perfect menu, the perfect decorations and the perfect set up. I had even purchased this beautifully perfect, ceramic, green pig that I stuck on the counter. It brought my kitchen to life!  But even with all this perfection, there was one thing that really had my panties in a bunch. There was no ring on my finger.

I know I should have left it for another time, but I was just so irritated and couldn’t get the thought out of my mind.

The day before Easter I was very angrily making the ham. Dayo could tell something was wrong with me, so he tried to avoid me all day. Finally, when he got up the balls to actually come and ask me what was wrong, I told him to take a look at my ring finger. He tried to laugh it off, but this was no laughing matter.

I started a full-blown argument with this man because, for the life of me, I could not understand why we were not engaged yet. I mean I am pretty hot shit so wtf was he waiting for?!? Remember when I said pressuring a man can end poorly? Well for me, it did… kinda.

Dayo was furious. I had never seen him this mad. He said that I was stubborn, selfish, and a brat. This, of course, pissed me off even more and sent me off into a screaming frenzy. It was probably the worst bitch fit I’ve ever had. I did not care. I wanted my fucking ring.

Side note: I know you are probably thinking I am the worst person in the world right now. And in hindsight, I WAS doing the most. However at that time, I really couldn’t not wrap my mind around what the holdup could be.

I was screaming like a mad woman, which led to Dayo walking out of the house and storming down the street. He walked around the neighborhood for about two hours. In the mist of all this, my older sister Bonnie calls me.

Me: OMG Bonnie! You will not belie-

Bonnie: You’re a fucking idiot. *click*

Me: *hears dial tone* Hello?

What the fuck was that about? Had she spoken to Dayo? If so, how could she say that I was an idiot when Dayo was the one taking his sweet time to propose to this bad bitch? What the hell was going on?

After finally taking a breather and evaluating the situation, I realized I went a little too hard on Dayo. I was still irritated as shit but I probably could’ve 1. Handled the situation better and 2. Chosen another day to address my issue. At this point, he wasn’t talking to me so I just finished the rest of my Easter prep.

The next morning, I got up early to finish all of the last minute details. By the time I woke up, Dayo had already left the house. In my mind, he had left me and fled the country, but I couldn’t focus on that because people would be arriving in a couple of hours. Everything was cooking perfectly and I was most excited to show off my ceramic kitchen pig (my whole family hates this pig btw). As I’m pulling the final quiche out of the oven, I hear the front door unlock. Dayo was home!

Initially I wanted to hit him with a “where the fuck you been?” and a neck roll, but I decided to play it cool and continue setting up the brunch. He walked in to the kitchen, plopped an orchid on the table and kissed me on the forehead. “I don’t want to fight today, so this is a peace offering” he said.

An orchid is your peace offering? An orchid? HOW ABOUT A MOTHER FUCKING RING! I didn’t say that, but I sure did want to. However, since it was the Lord’s day and all, I hugged him and thanked him. Even though deep down I wanted to throw the orchid at the back of his head when he walked away.

The brunch was set to start at 2:00 pm, but by 1:45pm we already had about 25 people in the house. We were expecting 40, which is the norm with our immediate Mexican/Nigerian family. However by 3:00 pm there were 75 damn people in my house. Every unexpected guest that walked in sent me into full panic mode.  I’m going to run out of food! We don’t have enough seating! There’s not enough booze! I kept glancing at Dayo with anxiety ridden stares to which he quickly looked away.

The entire brunch Dayo avoided me and stood in the corner with his friends getting drunk.  He’s not a big time drinker at all, but this day, he was throwing back the shots. What was even more bizarre was how attentive my mom and sisters were being towards me. They kept fixing my hair and making sure my makeup was perfect. Through all this weirdness, I still had to hide the eggs for the  Easter Egg Hunt. We hid the eggs, announced to the kids that the Easter bunny had just arrived and the hunt commenced.

Normally, all the parents would be outside with their kids, taking pictures and helping them find the treats. But this time, halfway through the hunt, the parents started trickling inside, leaving their children outside to fend for themselves.

What in the whole fuck was going on here?

The hunt was over and I was outside, by myself, picking up candy wrappers and plastic eggshells. I have to admit I was pretty ticked off that everyone had left me outside to babysit and then do damage control. I walked in the house and the living room is empty. I could see everyone hovering around in the kitchen, looking at me out the corner of their eyes. It was almost a guilty look they had. First thought that came to my mind was “someone broke my damn pig”.

I ran in the kitchen, breathing heavily because I was terrified to see what had become of my precious porker. I pushed through the group of guests, all the while extending my neck to look above the crowd and into the corner that I had nestled my ceramic swine. I finally get passed everyone, still looking directly at my pig, only to realize he was still there and still fully intact. What was going on?

Just then, I notice Dayo walking up to me with a shiny, golden egg in his hand. It was covered in so much glitter that his had looked like a disco ball. By now, the pieces started coming together but I was still a bit confused. Everyone got quiet and pulled out their cameras and phones.

Oh shit. This is it. He’s about to propose. Thank God my pig is ok, but yes! He is about to propose. OMG! That’s why Bonnie said I was an idiot. Oh my gosh. I was such a bitch yesterday. Damn, Katryce!  

All of these thoughts rushed through my head in a matter of seconds. Dayo looked me in the eyes and dropped to one knee. Now most women, at this point, would start crying and wait to hear their man profess their love to them. But at this point in time all I could do was replay over and over how terrible I had been to Dayo the day before. So instead of hearing him out, I grabbed the egg, jumped on him and said yes. I had been so awful to him that I knew I had to move quick before he changed his mind. I didn’t even allow the poor guy a chance to actually ask me to  marry him.

So I’m crying, he’s drunk and my precious pig is fine. All was right with the world. In all this chaos, I had forgotten about the ring! I never even opened the egg to see what was inside! I jumped up, wiped my eyes and opened the egg to find the perfect ring. It was everything I wanted. I guess all of my hard work of leaving magazines and web pages open to rings I admired were perfect clues for Dayo.  He did a great job.

Don’t you DARE judge my hairy knuckles!

Looking back on my proposal, I wish I would’ve handled myself better. My level of bitchy was at an all-time high and I should’ve had faith that my man was in it for the long haul.

But on a petty note- I still secured the bag so…  

Easter has always been my favorite holiday, but thanks to Dayo it is even more special to me now! Any exciting Easter stories out there? Spill the tea!

The post The Day I Got Engaged- A Ceramic Pig, A B!tch Fit And A Golden Egg appeared first on The Funny Momma.

As you all know, I am a momma of three boys. If there is one thing I have learned about boys during my time as a mother, it’s that boys are gross. Not just gross like, “Eww, that was nasty.” Gross like, “Get your dirty ass out of my face this moment!” gross. My boys, in particular, are so gross that I don’t even like to clean their bathrooms. Luckily, I have an incredible cleaning woman who cleans our home, including the boys’ disgusting bathroom, every other week. GASP! I know. I know. I should be able to clean my own house (blah blah blah), while taking care of my family (blah blah blah). It’s a waste of money… blah. blah. blah. Well let me tell you something, if you have an extra $100/$200 a month, hire a cleaning lady. It was the best decision I ever made. Sure I have to stretch out my nail appointments. And yeah I can’t go to the hair salon as often as I would like to, but that’s a small price to pay for my sanity.

The woman who cleans our house is an angel sent from heaven. Every time she’s done, our house looks like a model home. Any stain, any crumbs, any dirt is no challenge for Deni. But a clean house means absolutely nothing if you have a clogged toilet. Especially if you don’t find out about said clogged toilet until two weeks later. I know you have questions, so let me explain.

Let me start off by saying that my husband is amazing. He’s a certified accountant, who one day decided to quit his job and start his own business, and is now running an extremely successful business on his own. He’s handsome, very smart, supportive, and very loving. But he couldn’t have it all, could he? No. He couldn’t. You see, my husband is not a handyman by any means. He is more of the let-me-hire-someone-to-do-it-for-me-because-I-have-better- things-to-do type of man. I am the I-can-do-anything-and-don’t-need-to-hire-anyone-to-help-me type of woman, so I attempt to fix everything on my own. However, there is one area of DIY I will not venture into- plumbing. I do not want any parts of any clogged pipes. Clogged kitchen sink, clogged shower drain, or a clogged toilet…I will not touch it.

So the day my boys told me their toilet was clogged, I went directly to my husband. Because he is a man, he should be able to understand and handle the stench that had taken over their bathroom. All I asked him to do was plunge the toilet. I left to go to the store and when I came back he assured me it had been handled. Fast forward to a week and a half later, a weird disgusting smell was coming from my boys’ bathroom. And not the normal male stench, this was a really shitty situation. I had no choice but to enter… and what I found was a thing of nightmares.

The toilet was filled to the brim with poop, pee and about a roll and a half of toilet paper. I am not normally a squirmish person, but this shit-tuation made my skin crawl and my throat gag. I immediately stomped in my room demanded an explanation on why the toilet had not be unclogged as promised. Dayo’s response “Damn. My bad. I forgot all about it.” You forgot all about it? YOU FORGOT ALL ABOUT IT?!?! How could you forget about a toilet full of SHIT! I was fed up! It was time to pull out the big guns. I changed the Wi-Fi password and the Netflix password and refused to change it back until the toilet issue had been resolved. Dayo reluctantly walked into the bathroom of death- plunger in hand. I planned on letting him do his thang and figure out how to unclog it on his own, but I made one very simple request- Do. Not. Flush. The. Toilet. Very simple. Not for my husband.

As Dayo took on the toilet, I stayed in my room because 1. I couldn’t bare the smell of the toxic waste and 2. I didn’t want my husband to feel like I didn’t have any faith in his handy man skills. I mean, let’s be honest. I didn’t have any faith in his skills at all, but I didn’t want him to know it. It was very quiet for about two minutes and then, all of the sudden, Dayo loudly screams out “Babe! Babe! Get over here!” F. M. L. This bozo flushed the toilet.

I walk into the bathroom and was absolutely horrified at what I saw. There was *gags* shit EVERYWHERE! Literally! *gags again* AND Dayo was barefoot. *throws up a little* I run downstairs and grab some towels to bring upstairs. In those 30 seconds of my going to get the towels, the poop water had covered the entire bathroom floor. I was definitely about to just die. Take me now, Lord. I can no longer live this life of filth. “Turn off the water! Turn off the water!,” I screamed repeatedly to my fumbling husband. But did he turn off the water? NO! He just stood there yelling about how “fucking nasty” this was and how he was going to “throw up at any moment!”. So I had to be the adult and walk in to the shit show of a bathroom he had created and turn off the water to the toilet. Barefoot. *oh God. I’m gonna vomit.*

So here we are, foot deep in our rotten ass (literally) children’s feces, throwing towels everywhere and arguing about the fact that this dweeb flushed the damn toilet. After my initial shock and disgust, I couldn’t help but erupt in laughter. Like side cramping, tears rolling, laughter. How in the hell is this really happening to me? Is this really my life now? Why couldn’t God just have given me girls? Am I too old to run away from home? And Dayo was pissed.

“Are you really laughing right now?”

*Laughs uncontrollably* “I can’t breathe”

“Katryce! This is not fucking funny!”

*screams in laughter* “I’m dying!”

“I got shit in between my toes and you think this is funny?!?”

*gasps for air. still laughing* “Dear, God. Stop!”

Fast forward to two hours later – I finally got control of my laughter. We had unclogged the toilet, gotten everything off the floor, threw everything away, mopped, Lysol’d the entire bathroom- twice, mopped again, and poured bleach everywhere. There was only one thing left to clean- our bodies. And Dayo and I thought about it at the same time.

Dayo: “I guess we should shower now.”

Me: “Yeah. I feel gross.”

We looked at each other wondering who was going to make it to the shower first. Dayo was a star football player and track champion in high school and college so the chances of me making it to the shower before him were slim. I had no other choice but to play dirty. We both darted for the door at the same time. I took the bag of trash and threw it in front of Dayo which caused him to fall flat on his face. I jumped over his body (Usain Bolt style) and could see the finish line ahead of me. I was almost at the door handle when all of the sudden, Dayo grabs my leg and I fell to the floor. That bastard. He ran into our bathroom, slammed the door and locked it. He won. There I was sitting at the bathroom door, smelling like yesterday’s lunchmeat, waiting for my husband to finish what would go down as the longest shower in the history of the world. This asshole didn’t even have the decency to take a quick shower so I could clean myself off. He wanted me to suffer since I laughed at his pain earlier.

If it wasn’t for the fact that it would terribly burn my skin, I would’ve just filled my tub with bleach and laid in it for hours. But for obvious reasons, that was not a possibility. When I finally did get in the shower, I stayed there for an hour and then I got out and took an additional 30-minute bath just to make sure every inch of filth was removed. When I got out I rubbed myself down in alcohol and soaked my feet in peroxide. I’ve never felt so clean in my life.

That night there was very little pillow talk. My husband and I had just been through a horrifying experience that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. We just laid there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the day’s events had gone so far left. Dayo ended the night with these words: “Baby, I love you more than you will ever know. But don’t you ever, EVER, ask me to unclog a toilet again. I never want to discuss what happened today, again.” I’m not sure which of these words triggered it, but I once again busted out in uncontrollable laughter. This laughing fit lasted about five minutes. Dayo didn’t talk to me for two days after that. Oops.

Does anyone have any clogged toilet horror stories? Please share. I want to laugh at your pain as well

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