Saturday, January 28, 2012

Pull out the parka, it's tax season

I know some folks hate tax season.  I know people who look forward to it, and have already planned what they will do with a refund they may be expecting.  I don't hate it, and I don't usually plan out how to spend money I do not know for sure I'm getting (not that I don't have an ongoing "wish list" for when I might have a few bucks come my way, but I"m not going to be Clark Griswold and find out I am the newest member of the jelly of the month club, when I've already ordered my swimming pool... or (let's be more realistic here...) Manolos).  I kind of look at doing our taxes like a game.  Like any game, you might lose a turn, or maybe you hit the jackpot.  (Though, that jackpot isn't like a million dollars when you've not even earned anywhere near a million... but you get the idea).  Sometimes you just get to pass Go, but you do NOT collect $200, but you don't owe it either so it's a wash.  I always go in with my lucky "PICK ME BOB!" shirt, and my pep rally cry of "Big bucks, no whammies!"  Now, of course, getting money back usually just means you did a shit job of accounting for how much you'd owe and planning for it by having the proper amount taken out of your paycheck each week or so.  I mean, wouldn't it be better to keep what you will be getting and make interest on it, than let someone else hold onto it for you for the entire year, then get it back in one lump sum?  So, I guess getting a return means you did bad math to begin with, but I think most people like the surprise extra money that they did not have all year to blow on Angry Birds upgrades and snuggies. 

We are preparing to see our accountant, and he always sends us this little "preparation guide" thing-a-ma-jig that reminds me of why we are paying him (because there's always a handful of important things I always forget about until he points them out).  I'm not good at tax law, so I have "a guy".  But, have you had one of my cakes, because I'm really good at making those.  Cake skills are much more fun, and decidedly more yummy than tax skills. 

My husband was filling out the little check list, and one question was "Have you made any changes in your home to improve energy efficiency?"  He took it upon himself to go into detail about this one...

Husband Yes.  I told my wife to stop dressing like a floozy and put some clothes on during the winter.  Now our heating bill is way lower, therefore we are being much more efficient.

Me Wait, what?  Does the definition of "dressing like a floozy" change as you get older?  Because, seriously, it just does not seem to take much to enter into floozy territory anymore.  I mean, my lounge pants, two tank tops, plus a long sleeve shirt = floozy?  I wish when I was young and single someone would have told me "Wait until you pass 30... you won't have to try so hard.  A roomy pair of lounge pants will do it."  I mean, that may have changed my life, having that kind of information.  Is there any question on this paper that says something like "Does your husband make you wear a parka and ushanka because he's too cheap to turn up the heat?" or "Is your house so cold that you start to hallucinate that your wife is "showing too much skin" because she's only wearing 3 layers of clothes?"  Oy.  You know, maybe this is just some convoluted idea the tax man had to ask what your wife is wearing.  Now how do you like your answer?

Husband Don't bring him into this.

Me He's the one asking dirty questions.

Husband No, I'm pretty sure that's just you being... well you.

We get to go meet with this pervert tax-guy accountant next week.  At that time, he will probably reveal that he does not care what I was or am wearing, and my husband and I will both look at each other like "HA!  You were WRONG!".  Then he will tell us that we pay a higher tax rate than Mitt Romney and then he will look at us like "HA!  Suckers!"  Oh that tax guy, he has this one in the bag.  We can't compete.  There is nothing more ridiculous than that.  Not even implying that the tax man's accountant job is part of some complicated plan to find out what women are wearing. 

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