I'm sure if you live anywhere in the US you know what I'm talking about. Tax Time. That's right folks it's that time of year that most of us are on the verge of pulling our hair out, jabbing something into our eyes, and ending it all by throwing ourselves under a train.
It doesn't matter if you do them yourselves or pay someone an exorbitant amount of money to do it for you, we all hate it. Even if you think you might get something back you still dread it. Oh there are those lucky few who know without a shadow of a doubt that they are going to see a nice little check in their mailbox but most of us sweat bullets over it. Oh the ones who knew they were going to get a refund have long since filed and put the whole thing to bed but the rest of us are on pins and needles hoping against hope that we will be one of the lucky ones and have a positive instead of a negative in our bank accounts.
Now I do our taxes myself and I have to tell you I hate it. This started years ago long before my husband and I married. I started doing his taxes for him and now it is a matter of he expects me to do it every year.
Now there is no way this is fun for me. Back in the old days before everyone started doing it on the internet it really wasn't that big a deal but over time taxes have become more and more problematic. This has resulted in me becoming more and more of a shrew every year during this time. I grow fangs and ten inch claws. I tend to snap at anyone who speaks to me especially if they ask me what I consider to be dumb questions. Buddy tends to ask dumb questions. Why doesn't he learn to keep his mouth shut and stand in his little corner until this is finished. Men never learn. You know I'm going to get this way when I do this so why don't you go get a hotel room until I'm finished and then we'll both get through it without me taking your head off and there is a better chance we'll live through it. Well you'll live through it and I won't go to jail.
Buddy is a very intelligent man. He can do almost anything. Hell if I needed my brain operated on and Buddy was the only one there to do it I would have very little trepidation in his performing the procedure. But God help the man if he had to do the taxes. I'm not saying he couldn't do it I'm saying that if you think I turn into the bitch from hell he would make me look like an angel from on high if I turned this over to him. You've never seen him work on something. When that man is working on something and he gets aggravated he isn't the spawn of Satan, he is Satan. Lord love him but damn he can get mad at inanimate objects in a way that defies logic. I have a enough sense to know that when he gets this way to run away. So I ask you, is it too much for me to ask that he use the same damn common sense?
She was definitely a few pieces shy of a complete Erector Set.
"Nice equipment." said Alison.
"Don't I know it."
Would someone please make him stop excreting humanly body fluids?