My name is Will DeFrees and this is a Sunday Scaries Podcast, your cure for the Sunday Blues.

There I sat in the bathroom stall with my face buried in my hands.

While it felt like I had been there for an hour, I think the actual lap's time fell

somewhere more in the 8-10 minute range.

I rubbed my eyes and got that feeling.

You know what I'm talking about when you rub them so hard that it feels like you're

playing Rainbow Road and Mario Kart.

It was then that I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

It was a text that simply read, are you doing okay?

And it was from my now wife.

She was sitting at the table with another couple probably wondering if I had passed out

or not.

Truth be told, the rehearsal dinner the night before I got the best of me.

Yes, the third Martini was a mistake.

And no, I do not want to rehash the long form conversation I had with my friend's mom

after that Martini.

But there I was, sitting in a stall in the Barbudo bathroom in New York City's West Village.

I wasn't even going to the bathroom.

I was simply resting in solitude.

After assuring my wife I was generally fine and I just needed a breather, she asked if I

could go order anything for me to help my hangover.

Given that we already had pasta, pizza, and every other carb that you could imagine arriving

...