Will They Like Me in Heaven?

My life is nearly over, it’s drifting away with the wind, but the latest thing that troubles me is what happens after the end. I don’t fear the abyss, I have no worries of my id, I don’t fear coming back as a spider or another poisonous arachnid. But will good St. Peter greet me, hail-fellow-well-met, or will he just not like my looks, give rein to a hidden meanness, and strike me out of his books? Are T-shirt and jeans not the attire to wear skipping down streets of gold, should sneakers be replaced with spit shine, or can I fall back and just say I’m old? Will there be a place to relax with a beer, am I allowed to eat Devil’s food cake, or will my new-found love of Angel food be merely rejected as fake? My favorite cat and dog met me at the Rainbow Bridge, but they never liked each other much, as they hiss, snarl, and run over the ridge. I’ve had wives and lovers a few, of my time how do I allot each a smidge, this can’t end very well, as they hiss, snarl, and run over the ridge. So these are my worries to sort out before I arrive, and I see no good answer other than staying alive.