The Last Supper

Last Saturday, following a 5-hour Dave Ramsey get-your-butt-outta’-debt seminar, Chris and I and our two BFFs, Byron and Stacie, took the title as the Four. Dumbest. People. On. The. Planet.

Why?

Immediately following the aforementioned get-your-butt-outta’-debt seminar the four of us, all drunk on hope and optimism about crawling out of poverty and into the millionaire’s club, headed to dinner.

At a steakhouse.

An expensive steakhouse.

In three hours, over candlelight, cocktails and great conversation (oh, and lobster, steak and dessert) the four of us reborn “penny pinchers” somehow managed to rack up a bill so great that we collectively fainted when the check arrived.

OK, maybe we didn’t faint. But we should have. Maybe then, the waiter would’ve taken pity on us.

The grand total for the recent Dave Ramsey graduates?

A whopping $XXX. (I had planned to fess up to the amount, but after the hubby threatened me with death, dismemberment and/or divorce if I did, I thought better of it.)

Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty. It may, in fact, have been the ugliest thing any of us had ever laid eyes on (well, except for that scene in Along Came Polly when Ben Stiller gets faced by the enormously hairy, enormously sweaty naked guy during a basketball game).

Here’s to strong drinks … and strong stomachs.

The next day, after Byron and Stacie were on their way home and Chris had polished off the hundreds of dollars in leftovers, we promptly cut up the credit cards and resolved never, ever to be THAT stupid again.

Though the morsel-riffic taste of steak and lobster is all but a distant memory, the overwhelming sense of irony (and idiocy) of the day lingers on.

Lesson learned (i hope).