I crapped my pants and realized I have the perfect wife. Reddit, what defining moments made you realize your wife/significant other was the one for you?

[Trigger warning for other poopy-pants survivors]

We are on our honeymoon, somewhere in the tropics. It’s hot, humid, and I’m feeling fine. My wife and I have just finished a non-terrible dinner at a restaurant, and have called for a cab to pick us up some ten blocks away.

• 8 blocks to pickup: My stomach starts making odd noises. I ignore the warning signs.
• 5 blocks to pickup: Sudden cramp. OH SHIT
• 3 blocks to pickup: Realization that my life is about to end strikes me. I’ll lose my job, my parents will disown me, everyone will fart in my general direction, and my wife will leave me.
• 2 blocks to pickup: My wife is looking over my shoulder as I write this, so I will not describe what exactly happened. Suffice it to say that I, HoneymoonThrowaway, 28 years of age and possessor of an until now flawlessly secure set of anal sphincters, have crapped my pants.

"We need to find a bathroom. Right now."

She knows exactly what has happened. A hard, flinty glint appears in her beautiful eyes -- she is in crisis management mode. She points to a loud, very crowded restaurant, and says: "I’ll get a drink at the bar so you can use the restroom."

Even in these dire circumstances, my wife is thinking shit through.

I rush through to the back of the restaurants through the crowd of diners, ignoring the fine rendition of Tom Petty’s "Freefalling" being belted out by the band, hoping to God that my pants are not leaking.

I get to the back of the restaurant to find the enemy of every man, woman and child who has ever crapped his/her pants: stairs. You see, walking on level ground is possible with an – ahem – full load. You swing your legs and it doesn’t upset the balance, preserving an unpleasant but stable equilibrium. Stairs fuck with this equilibrium. You simply have to move your legs too much.

Like all other challenges this evening, this one was met and summarily dispensed with. I made it to the restroom, and barricaded myself in a stall. I am an engineer by trade, so checklists come to me easily. It was time to take inventory.

• 1 pair soiled pants.

• 4 rolls of toilet paper. Score.

• 1 wallet containing credit cards, $52 cash, and other sundries.

• 1 cellular telephone, with data plan and unlimited texting.

• 1 toothpick. WTF?

If I were Richard Dean Anderson, I could probably get out of this alone. Sadly, my improvisational skills are substandard, and I know it. It’s time to call in backup via text.

Me: I need you to go to any store and pick up a pair of shorts.

Wife: Ok. Hang on. Paying for drink then will find shorts. How will I get them to you?

(Note terse acknowledgement of message, with simultaneous request for clarification on course of action. My wife is a fucking champ; I’m in good hands.)

Me: Just come up to the men’s room.

Wife (7 minutes later): Here.

Me: Walk in, there is no one here. First stall. Just sling it over.

The pants landed in my lap, along with a receipt for $16. My wife has just informed me that the pants were 50% off. Damn – excellent crisis response abilities AND resource management.

I have already cleaned myself with the aforementioned toilet paper. I dispose of the old shorts in the plastic bag the new shorts came in, and slip into the new shorts, which somehow coordinate perfectly with the shirt I am already wearing. Did I mention that she has flawless fashion sense?

I walk out of the bathroom, and meet my wife in the hallway. We head outside, hail a cab and get back to the hotel, where I jump into the shower and proceed to scrub myself from head to toe. All the while my wife is saying it’s okay and handing me more shower gel. She gets what you need to get over trauma like this.

When I get out of the shower, there are two Pepto tablets waiting for me on the bedside table along with -- most importantly -- a complete absence of snark.

TLDR: estimated time from total gastrointestinal meltdown to more or less complete recovery (sans some dignity – you can’t have everything): 32 minutes, 7 seconds. I am going over the sequence of events in my mind, and I cannot imagine how I could have survived the ignominy of pooping my pants like a 2 year old without the support and prompt action of my kickass wife. HoneymoonThrowawayWife, I love you. If I needed a reminder of why I married you (and I didn’t, believe me), this was it.

Reddit – have you ever been confronted with circumstances that crystalized why you were with you significant other?

Edit: Frontpage? Thanks Reddit! My wife and I are honored.