Eatin' Out

For three years, Husband has wanted to take me out to eat to a certain eating establishment. He knows I love me some steak, and they are reported to have the best.

So today, since I had to go to the doctor's down Atlanta way, we decided we'd have lunch there. We knew it was a pretty pricey place to eat, so we figured the  noon meal would be a whole lot cheaper.

May I say, "Lord, help."

We ate there for the first time, and it will be our last.

Don't get me wrong. The staff are as nice as if they've known you all your lives. They call you by your Mr. or Mrs. with warm friendly smiles.

There is no cheesy music of any kind playing. The tables are set with fine linen and silver and crystal.

The steak was really, really good. I've had as good, but I ain't complaining. The potatoes were wonderful. The salad was meh. The tea was southern sweet.

Husband said his food was great. Daughter said hers was too.

It was the bill that was hard to swallow.

Perhaps we had bitten off more than we could chew.

I won't bother to tell you how much the total was, because, fact is, I'm ashamed to say.

Husband decided to visit the men's room before we left, and as he walked from the table, he raised his arm a little, and I burst into a fit of giggles.

"There goes Minnie Pearl," I said to Daughter.

She frowned at me, took one look at her daddy and giggled too.

He had a nice, large, cardboard price tag hanging from his arm pit.

We became fairly, uh, amused.

When he came back we gently told him by making fun of him.

He, too, became amused and we were all laughing so hard it probably  was - okay - was inappropriate.

I expected someone to come up and say in a low, cultured voice, "Excuse me, but ain't ya''ll got no couth?"

Alas, we did not.

But we paid our bill, adding a pretty good tip, in a a stiff upper lip sort of way.

Husband muttered the whole time this was Sean Hannity, WSB radio talk show host's fault, because he's the one who yammers about how good the food is at this place all the time.

I suggested he call Mr. Hannity and tell him how poor we are and see if he'd reimburse us, but Husband nixed that idea, so I guess we'll be paying the old piper when the credit card bill rolls in.

Just remind me next time Husband has a great idea about eating at a restaurant recommended by a multi-millionaire to ignore him.

'K?