YOU THINK YOU GOT IT BAD!

It’s April 15th; did you send in your taxes?

A lot of people scurry about the last minute to fill-out and mail their tax forms to the IRS, and sit back and wait for the possibility of an audit to ruin their lives. Me, I have my own tax problems, but not with the IRS!

First of all, I’m too chicken, and so is TLW (The Little Woman) to cheat on the tax return. TLW won’t even exaggerate, while I might look the other way a little. But no, this is not about cheating; this is about preparation, every year.

It starts out in February when we receive our forms from our accountant. The man has been doing my taxes as a business since 1973, and as a family for just as long. That is 37 years we have been working together! In those 37 years, TLW, the little efficiency factory, has gotten all the paper work, receipts, bills and what nots together for the cpa to work with. Every year!

Every year, she leaves something out, or in question, or may make a slight mistake, every year. Am I complaining, well, listen to this:

Every year, the cpa calls, me that is. Every year he asks me questions, and every year the same thing happens. I DON’T KNOW THE ANSWER.

So, every year I feel like I just stepped off the plane from china where I live, and people are asking me questions in English, like I should understand them.

Phone ringing-
“Hello?”

“Hi Joe! It’s Ron, Ron Goldstein.” (Nice Jewish kid, if I have to go to jail, at least I gave it my best shot.)

“Hi Ron, how are you?” (Darn, its THAT phone call time of the year again!)

“Great! Nice weather we are having. How many years have we been doing this?” (In other words, before I have to call your wife you dumb ass, think this year you can answer a simple question?)

“Oh! I guess about thirty something…”

“Yeah, I see on your tax return you are claiming only two deductions, and a chance at fifteen to life. Are you claiming Michael as a student?”

(I haven’t the foggiest what she did, I just sign where she says and mail it in)

“Well Ron…(Trying to sound like I know what the hell she did, and/or I know what I’m talking about) to tell you the truth… err uh, that is.”

“You want to have Ellen call me?”

“Sure Ron.” (That means: You betcha, I do, oh I do! Please let me get in touch with her ASAP, and clear this confusion up, before I have an epileptic fit, shortness of breath, and agita, coupled with spasms of sorts.)