Extravagant is in the eyes of the beholder, and the size of the wallet.
When I was just starting out on my own, working at the Alex Theater in Glendale as an "assistant manager" (back when it was still a movie theater and a dumpy mess), the thought of going to a theater to see live actors was absurd. Rediculous. Extravagant. Of course, my parents had never been much on going to the theater; even going to see movies was a high-ticket item, as far as they were concerned. (When I was able to get them into the theater for a re-release of The Sting, it was the first time they'd been to see a movie in over a decade.)
So, when it came time for my birthday that year, I had the unexpected pleasure of having it on one of my "weekends," which was in the middle of the week. I was still driving at the time, so I headed out that day to see what I could find for myself. Where I found myself was in Century City, buying a ticket to A Chorus Line, currently in it's first Los Angeles engagement, with much of the original cast. The seat was about four rows back, center. Adding to the cost was my decision to get a better shirt than the one I had on, a golden yellow dress shirt (but, since it was something I could also wear at work, maybe that wasn't so extravagant).
And I had myself a wonderful time.
When I got back to work the next day, Richard, the manager, was steamed at me for not having spent the night at home. He had wanted me to come in for some reason on my night off. (This is the same fellow who later quit his job just before getting caught with his hand in the till, but my stories about Richard can wait for another day.)
Was the ticket an extravagance? Yes. Was it worth it? Of course. It was also the last time I went to the theater until der Brucer started insisting that we go together, much more than a decade later. Like parents, like son.