Oh, that last bite cost me fifteen dollars, and each sip of this wine is another three dollars on the bill. My god, that comes to six dollars per ounce. And why do they only put like three ounces in the glass? If they'd at least get me drunk I wouldn't care. Geez, each scallop in this appetizer costs ten dollars.
But it is Mark's birthday and I have an obligation to take him where he wants to go. So it is the expensive French place.
Obviously this was not an authentic French restaurant, because the staff at real French restaurants act as if they're doing you a favor, and god forbid you ask them to explain something on the menu. No, the staff here was extremely polite and accommodating. From the lady who greeted us and took our coats, to the waiter who made sure we understood the menu completely, to the fine looking young man who actually walked me to the men's room when I asked, "Where's the toilet?" We weren't rushed through dinner as if there was a meter attached to our asses getting ready to bounce us so they could turn over the table. No, it was quite leisurely. We were seated immediately, not forced to sit at a bar so that they could sell us a few watered down drinks while we waited, and when I got my initial cocktail at our table, it was quite hardy. Other than that, yes, everything was expensive. But here is the good thing about it, I didn't care. Because everything was delicious, it didn't matter that each bite was costing me more than the minimum wage. It didn't matter to me that I got a giant wine glass with about two ounces of wine in it. It was damn good wine. At the end of our two hours of eating I was satisfied, and what's a few hundred dollars if it can make me and Mark happy?... especially Mark.