friday nights

Now, I’ve never lived in a city before, so this could be a city thing rather than a Wellington thing, - I don’t know. But every Friday night here, getting drunk is the thing to do.
People start drinking in the afternoon. They leave their offices for the pub at about 3; it’s not an occasional thing – it’s expected of them.
From there they’ll drink into the wee hours of the morning. Staggering home at 3 or 4 a.m., with a day of recovering from a killer hangover to look forward to.
As Amy and I walked home from a movie last night at about 11:30, I think we might have been the only sober people out except for the police officers. Boys were kicking cardboard boxes down the sidewalk, laughing and singing; girls were walking around in tank-tops in the cold wind without seeming to notice; and couples were falling over each other laughing.
When we decline an invitation to go out, people look at us like we’re crazy and demand an explanation. It’s a hard argument to get across, and we usually make up an excuse rather than explain that while we enjoy drinking on occasion, we really don’t relish the idea of spending all our money getting drunk. And anytime we’re in the house on a Friday or Saturday night, we get asked why we’re staying in, as if we must be seriously ill or something.
When people chose to go out and drink all night, we don’t make them feel bad or try to cajole them into staying in with us, so why do they feel the need to make us feel antisocial for staying in?