My name is Will DeFries, and this is the Sunday Scaries Podcast.

You're cure for the Sunday Blues.

This week we're going to discuss dinner parties, being alone, and the state of Sunday Scaries.

There are a variety of smells you associate with very specific events in your life.

I'm not certain, but I could swear my first kiss was wearing a stolen bottle of

her mom's clenique happy perfume when we kissed underneath the streetlight in front of my old house.

I can differentiate between my aunts' hash browns and normal hash browns,

and the smell of a snuffed candle will forever take me back to my dad letting me help clean up

after they throw one of their dinner parties.

Because in the 90s dinner parties seem to run as rampant as perms,

zima, and banning your kids from watching MTV Spring Break.

Every Friday or Saturday night, my parents were either heading out for a dinner party,

or they were furiously running around the house trying to make sure everything was in order for one

of theirs. You want to take the coats tonight they'd ask me before I'd bring my mom's friends fur coat

to their bedroom where I'd jump on the bed and pass out while watching the sand-lotter mighty dogs.

I'd hide upstairs looking through our banister while there appeared to be a Gatsby-esque

cocktail party below my feet, with people telling dirty stories and drinking even dirtier martinis.

Lavish or not, everything seemed lavish when you're an eight-year-old kid in pajamas

watching people eat shrimp cocktails, and drink fancy-named things that came out of bottles with

a course. But those days have seemed to have come and gone. Vanished into thin air like the notion

that it was okay to smoke indoors or drink rhodes anywhere you went. The pageantry of a well-thrown

dinner party is nothing but a thing of the past, a relic of a time gone by where preparations

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