Decorating Tips for Having Your Wedding Inside a Porta Potty

Last Updated on September 19, 2025 by Michael

You’re really doing this, huh?

Found this article at 3 AM after googling “worst wedding venues” and somehow landed on “actually, what if though?” Or maybe you lost a bet. A big bet. The kind of bet that makes your friends question whether they actually like you or just keep you around for the entertainment value.

Whatever sequence of poor decisions led you here, congratulations – you’ve officially out-crazied every bride who’s ever had a meltdown over napkin colors.

In Defense of This Catastrophe

Everyone you know got married somewhere predictable. Sarah did the barn thing and spent two grand on hay bales that her guests were allergic to. Mike rented that industrial loft that still somehow smelled like its former life as a fish processing plant. Your cousin Jessica had a beach wedding where the officiant got attacked by a seagull mid-vows and honestly? That was the highlight.

You though? You’re an innovator. A visionary. A person who looks at humanity’s most basic portable bathroom solution and thinks “romance.”

Nobody – and this cannot be stressed enough – NOBODY has ever done this. You’ll be the first. The only. The cautionary tale parents tell their children when they complain about wedding planning. “You think choosing centerpieces is hard? Let me tell you about the Porta Potty Wedding of 2025…”

The Shopping List of Shame

Home Depot employees are about to become very concerned about you.

That teenage cashier named Tyler? He’s going to remember you forever. You’re the story he tells at parties for the next forty years.

Color Palette for the Disturbed

Porta potty blue is your dominant color now. It’s not a choice. It’s barely a color. It’s more like a threat that someone decided to call azure.

You could try to cover every surface in white tulle and fairy lights, pretend you’re going for “enchanted forest” vibes. But underneath all that Target wedding aisle optimism, the blue remains. Watching. Judging. Being aggressively, unforgivably blue.

Maybe lean hard the other way? Full chaos. Neon everything. If your wedding is going to be insane, make it VISUALLY insane too. Blind your guests with color so they can’t focus on where they are. It’s not a porta potty, it’s a disco fever dream that happens to have a toilet.

Spatial Awareness Is For Quitters

Four feet by four feet.

You’ve had Uber rides with more square footage. Your disappointing dorm room that one semester you don’t talk about? Palace by comparison.

The maid of honor has to stand outside. Not because you want her to – physics demands it. The best man? Also outside. The officiant is basically straddling the door frame, one foot in, one foot out, questioning their entire career path that led to this moment.

Your train? What train? Your dress better be a cocktail length because anything touching that floor is getting burned afterward. No exceptions. That’s not germophobia, that’s basic survival instinct.

The Bouquet Holder Situation

The toilet paper dispenser is your only option. This isn’t creative problem solving. This is desperation.

You could drill hooks into the walls but honestly? That feels like you’re committing to this idea a little too hard. Like you’re planning to do this again. Nobody should do this again. Nobody should do this once.

Lighting That Won’t Make The News

Real candles are how your wedding ends up as a “Florida Man” headline, even if you’re nowhere near Florida. The methane-flame combo would create the kind of explosion that gets studied in engineering classes. “And here, students, we see what happens when romance meets chemistry meets terrible judgment.”

Stick to battery-powered LED everything. Those fake candles that flicker unconvincingly? Perfect. String lights from the college dorm section? Absolutely. That headlamp your dad bought for camping but never used? Strap it on.

The goal isn’t ambiance. The goal is being able to see well enough to sign the marriage certificate without accidentally signing the “I’ve made a huge mistake” face everyone’s making.

The Three-Step Journey Down the Aisle

“Here Comes the Bride” is four minutes long. Your aisle is three steps. Do the math.

You’re going to walk in, the music will start, you’ll take one step, and boom – you’re at the altar. The whole processional takes less time than a microwave popcorn cycle. Your photographer’s going to miss it because they blinked.

Throw some fake rose petals if you want, but understand they’re immediately becoming part of a biohazard situation on that floor. Those aren’t rose petals anymore. They’re evidence.

Let’s Address the Altar

The toilet is where you’re saying your vows.

Not near a toilet. Not adjacent to a toilet. OVER. A. TOILET.

The same place where construction workers have had their morning coffee revelations is where you’re promising eternal love. The cosmic irony is so thick you could cut it with a poop knife.

Sure, put a doily on the lid. Add some flowers. Spray seventeen cans of Spring Meadow Breeze. It’s still a toilet. Your grandma is going to watch you exchange rings over a toilet. Your future children will exist because of vows said over a toilet.

Actually wait. Don’t tell your future children about this. Tell them anything else. Tell them you got married in international waters. Tell them it was a tasteful ceremony at city hall. Tell them you’re not actually married and their whole life is a lie. Anything but the truth.

Guest Logistics (Good Luck With That)

Real question: Who’s coming to this?

Your ride-or-die friends who’ve already seen you at your worst? They’re outside googling “how to stage an intervention.” Your family? Your mom’s been crying since Thursday and your dad’s pretending he’s at a different wedding entirely.

Maybe livestream it. Set up a camera, send everyone a Zoom link, let them witness this catastrophe from the safety of their homes where they can mute themselves while screaming. The comment section’s going to be just variations of “WHAT” and “WHY” and “I’m calling the police.”

If people insist on attending in person, implement a viewing window system. Thirty seconds max. Like a really depressing museum exhibit. “And here we see the fall of Western civilization, presented in wedding form.”

Acoustic Nightmare Fuel

You know how your voice sounds weird in the shower? Multiply that by ten, add the echo of shame, and you’ve got porta potty acoustics.

Your carefully written vows are going to sound like they’re being delivered through a kazoo filled with regret. Every word will bounce off those plastic walls and come back wrong. “I promise to love you” becomes “I PROMISE TO GLOVE YOU” and honestly, what does that even mean? Nobody knows. Nobody wants to know.

Skip the string quartet. Skip the guitar. Skip music entirely. The only appropriate soundtrack is the distant sound of traffic and your guests’ muffled sobs.

Floral Arrangements and Complete Denial

Real flowers would take one look at this situation and just die out of respect for themselves.

Get fake ones. The faker the better. Those plastic flowers from the dollar store that look like they were made by someone who’s never actually seen a flower? Perfect. This whole situation is fake. The flowers should match the energy.

Or just skip flowers entirely. Hand out those little tree air fresheners to the wedding party. Black Ice for the groomsmen. New Car Scent for the bridesmaids. It’s not a bouquet, it’s a survival kit.

Documentation of Your Mistakes

Your wedding photographer just googled “can you get PTSD from a photoshoot” and the answer is apparently yes.

They’re going to need a hazmat suit, a therapist, and a significant pay increase. They’re basically a war correspondent now. This is their Vietnam.

Every photo will be cropped so tight it’s basically just nostril shots. “Here’s our beautiful wedding photo!” It’s an extreme closeup of your left eye. That’s it. That’s the only salvageable angle.

Years later, when people ask to see your wedding album, you’ll suddenly develop amnesia. “Wedding? What wedding? These are just… stock photos. Of eyes. That happen to look like us. Next question.”

The Reception From Hell

If you’re still in the porta potty for the reception, someone needs to check on you. This isn’t quirky anymore. This is a crisis.

Catering Options For Lunatics

No food. Absolutely no food. The last thing anyone needs in this scenario is a reminder that digestion exists.

Water bottles. Sealed. Unopened. Possibly blessed by a priest.

That’s it. That’s the menu. Anyone who wants more can leave. Actually, everyone should leave. This whole thing should be abandoned. But here we are.

The First Dance of Despair

You have four inches of movement. Total.

That choreographed routine you practiced? Worthless. You’re basically going to stand there, occasionally shifting weight from one foot to the other while avoiding eye contact with everyone, including each other.

The DJ (who’s standing 50 feet away, refusing to come closer) plays your song. It drifts through the vents. You sway imperceptibly. Someone cries. It might be you.

Your Emergency Exit Plan

The getaway car should be running. Driver in full hazmat gear. Engine warm. GPS already set to “anywhere but here.”

The moment – THE EXACT MOMENT – someone pronounces you married, you bolt. Full sprint. Don’t look back. Don’t stop for rice throwing. Don’t stop for anything.

Change your names. Move to another state. Start fresh. Never speak of this again.

The Truth Nobody Wants to Hear

Still reading? Still considering this?

There’s something genuinely wrong with you. And that’s not judgment, that’s just observation. Like watching someone eat soup with a fork – technically possible, deeply concerning.

But here’s the thing: if you actually go through with this, you’ll have achieved something nobody else has. You’ll be a legend. A cautionary tale. A Wikipedia footnote in an article about “Worst Decisions in Human History.”

Your marriage will have nowhere to go but up. Because you started in a toilet. Literally in a toilet. You’ve pre-disastered your entire relationship. Every future fight will end with “Well at least we’re not in a porta potty anymore.”

So godspeed, you beautiful catastrophe. May your love be stronger than the industrial-strength Febreze you’ll need, and may your marriage last longer than your guests’ therapy sessions.

This article is satire. Please don’t actually do this. If you’re seriously considering a porta potty wedding, show this article to someone who loves you. They’ll stop you. If they don’t stop you, they don’t love you. Find better friends. Also maybe a therapist. Definitely a therapist. The kind that specializes in whatever this is.