It had been a whirlwind. Taylor Swift had flown into Pittsburgh the day before, expecting a little time to herself after the grueling end of the Eras Tour. Instead, she was shuffled from the plane to a hotel, then straight into meet-and-greets and public appearances like she hadn't just poured out her soul on stage night after night.

Today was supposed to be a break. The Chiefs - her ex-boyfriend's team - were playing the Steelers. Just a calm afternoon in her private suite, alone, watching the game. No press, no fans, no noise. Just football and silence. She needed that. She craved that.

But first, lunch. She and her entourage hit a high-end Indian restaurant downtown. It was packed, but they made room for her. She ordered her comfort meal: Mughlai Chicken. Creamy, rich, spice-laden. Her favorite. It tasted a little off, but she was starving and too tired to question anything.

The regret hit almost immediately. By the time she arrived at the stadium, her stomach was already making threats. Tight cramps. Gurgles that echoed up her ribs. A growing sense of dread curling in her gut. Her assistant gave her a concerned look, but Taylor waved her off. She could handle it.

She climbed into her private box suite alone, finally shooing off her team so she could just breathe. That's when she noticed the remodel - sleek, modern... and strange. There was no bathroom. Instead, a single toilet was mounted right beside the massive window overlooking the field. Minimalist, open-concept, ridiculous.

Still, she held on. First quarter. Halftime. Her gut begged for release, but she fought it, jaw clenched, arms wrapped around her abdomen. She thought she could make it through the game. She was wrong.

By the second quarter's midpoint, it became unbearable. She stood up, face pale and glistening with sweat, unbuttoned her black dress pants, and dropped onto the toilet in full view of the 70,000 fans below. The sound was immediate, wet, brutal. Her body convulsed in relief and shame.

She hoped it would be quick. It wasn't. The Mughlai Chicken had declared war. Taylor sat there, legs clenched, body trembling, jaw tight. Barely moving. Barely breathing. This was the worst day of her life.

Then the door opened. Her head snapped over her shoulder, eyes wide, stomach still churning. A man walked in - not security, not her assistant. Just some random guy with a badge he clearly wasn't meant to have.

"Are you... with my security team? Because if not, you just walked in on Taylor Swift taking the worst dump of her life." She says, still holding her aching belly.