When my friend invited me to a high-end steakhouse, I hesitated.
I was honest with her from the start. I told her I couldn’t afford a $200 dinner and that if I came, I’d order something small.
She assured me it was fine.
At the restaurant, that promise vanished fast.
She ordered the biggest steak on the menu. Three sides. A drink. Then another. She talked about how “you only live once” while I quietly ordered a simple salad.
I didn’t complain. I didn’t say anything.
When the waiter brought the bill, she didn’t even look at it.
“Oh, we’ll just split it,” she said, smiling.
My half would’ve been more than my entire meal—by a lot.
I nodded.
But what she didn’t know was that I had already told the waiter, discreetly, to split the check by items, not evenly.
When he returned and placed two separate bills on the table, the silence was immediate.
Her smile disappeared.
She stared at her total. I paid for my salad, tipped, and stood up calmly.
She asked why I “embarrassed” her.
I reminded her—politely—that I had warned her before dinner. I had kept my word. She hadn’t.
That was the last expensive dinner invitation I ever accepted from her.
And honestly?
Also the last time I let someone confuse friendship with a free meal.
