Partying is such sweet sorrow

It's Friday night. I'm supposed to go to this birthday that will have in attendance some gossipy, back-stabbing, nasty women. I would obviously need to drink in order to stomach it, but my stomach is saying no, no, no to the drinks. Well my future stomach that is. The one that I will wake up with tomorrow after downing many cocktails. The first one or two will be to numb my nerves a little, the next one will be to tolerate the I can only imagine insults about who happens to not be in earshot. Then after that, well I don't remember! I don't want to go. I'm too old for this. I've been partying and tolerating unpleasant company for 20 years. It's time I cut back on the drinks and cut out the Riff Raff. After all, I'm not getting any younger. The grim reaper could be right around the corner waiting for me and I think if I was hung over, I would find him really annoying.