Procrastinating The Tax Man

I actually sat here staring at the blinking cursor after I typed the title of this post. I didn't even want to write it....um....right now.

I am not a procrastinator in most ways. I make my kids lay their clothes out the night before school, I make lunches, snacks, arrange backpacks, shoes, coats.....I even put dishes on the counter for the morning, I religiously make my coffee, even put the creamer and sugar in the cups all on the night before...

However,

there are a few things that I regularly procrastinate....

bills
bathrooms

and I know it's coming...It's not like either is a surprise, it's not like I just woke up on the 16th and have three mortgages to pay....it's not like I don't notice that the kids' bathrooms look like a fifth grade science experiment....gone wrong...

....but....I will procrastinate taxes more than anything on the planet.

Nobody likes taxes, well, except maybe accountants. This is like Christmas season to them.

I'm not assuming that my dislike or procrastination of my taxes makes me unique in any way. I'm just gonna make fun of myself for a minute or two, because, um, I'm procrastinating my taxes....

~~~~~

Beginning in November, I start getting all kinds of annoying mail with the word "tax" on the outside. These letters go into a handy stack in the back of my paperwork basket. The stackgrows and grows and grows and by February I can no longer pretend it doesn't exist. At this point the now very messy and very large stack is transferred to a box.

And in the box I throw all kinds of correspondence that I don't recognize as being familiar mail. i.e. all "tax stuff" and a good bit of junk mail....

By March the box is huge and out of control and beginning to give me nightmares. It won't be long at this point before Frank utters the words I hate more than "Will you give me a foot massage?" and that is: "You need to organize the tax stuff."

Let's see, what other things do I hate to hear almost as much as that?

Hannah (in the middle of the night): "Mommy, I think I'm about to throw up."

Scott (pretty much anytime...) "Mom, I think there's something you need to know..."

My mother: "Have you been to confession lately? I'll bet you haven't even been to church at all..."

My father (on December 23rd...): "Hey, do you mind going out and buying your mother's Christmas presents for me?"

Christi: "Paige, I really don't mind touching up those roots....I think it's been a while..."

Max (my trainer): "I've never seen anybody hold fat through the middle like you do...what on Earth are you eating?"

Good times, good times, all of it....some of my favorite stuff, but none as fun as taxes.

One year, about five years ago, Frank asked me to accompany him to the accountant's office. I was thrilled about this because the only official "dress up business appointments" I get invited to are this and real estate closings. These things make me miss working. I love the opportunity to look smart, dressed up, not haggered....

Anyway....I was excited to go to the accountant's office. The first thing I did was choose what I was gonna wear...and since I, being a housewife, didn't have anything "official" enough for the occasion, I had to go buy something...

Which I did!

So fun!

It was like shopping for work clothes... It was shopping with a purpose...

So after I'd acquired my outfit, I decided to use the excellent new red Coach tote bag I'd gotten for Christmas to hold all that tax crap. I shoved all those unopened letters in the tote bag, pushed them down to the bottom, then on top added a brand new leather-bound Daytimer (completely empty and now it's March) and a fancy ink pen and a calculator, I guess I thought there may be a shortage of these at an accountant's office...

And so I wouldn't create the hideous fashion faux-pas of not matching shoes with bag, (I had no red shoes...) I took my much smaller brown handbag to house my cell phone, checkbook, driver's license, lipstick and credit cards.....

I was ready for business....

Frank even took me to lunch in my snazzy and smart outfit. I thought I could really get used to this "business" business... It floors me that Frank gets to do this kindof stuff every day...

Anyway....we had our lunch, things were great, I was following him in the van to the accountant's office, we parked and went inside...

We sat down in a very fancy office across from our accountant, who was sitting at a very tidy, very organized, very large desk. He asked for our "tax organizer."

Frank looked at him and said "Paige has it..."

I felt a shred of alarm as I do not know what a "tax organizer" is. I say nothing and Frank can sense my slight panic and he tries to help me by saying: "I'm sure it's in that red bag."

"Oh, yeah, I think it is...." I say, taking out my leather bound, yet empty Daytimer, fancy pen and necessary calculator....At this point, Frank looks down at the bag between us. It's on the floor, so the accountant cannot see it...Frank sees all the crumpled up, unopened, giant mess of envelopes. There is one giant white one that I've wedged down next to it because it wouldn't mash down with the rest of them. It's bent and unopened, a legal sized thing, Frank picks it up.

"I think this is it," he says, opening the organizer that has our accountant's name and address on the return label. They'd spent about $3.50 to mail it to us, I'm sure he's noting that this money could've been saved by just handing it to us when we showed up...

"Yeah, that's it..." the accountant says....

Frank opens it and lo and behold, this was something that I was supposed to have "filled out." There are lots of questions and boxes and last year's figures....it was prepared especially for us to help us prepare our taxes, which is pretty much all that other junk that's all unopened in the bottom of my giant red bag...tax stuff and a bunch of other miscellaneous junk mail, that may or may not have included Ed McMahon and Publisher's Clearing House...My "tax box" had come in quite handy for housing all kinds of stuff I didn't care to open.

So, after they open up the handy organizer and throw away the envelope and attached letter...the accountant says to Frank (he's done with me....) "I need your property tax figures."

With a fair amount of fear, Frank looks at me and says "You paid the property taxes, didn't you?"

"I don't know...." Is all I could squeak out, avoiding eye contact because what I know for sure is three things:

I know that I did not pay the property taxes because....
I don't know what property taxes are....
and....
I wish I were anywhere else on the entire planet right now than right here.

~~~~~

Let's see, where would I rather be right now?

Cleaning up Hannah's throw up in the middle of the night...

Rubbing Frank's feet.

Working out with Max.

Getting my roots done.

Shopping for every single one of my mother's Christmas presents on December 23rd.

In confession.....

Actually, I rather be in confession, with my mother on the other side of the confessional....

~~~~~

"Paige, you did pay the property taxes, didn't you?" From the tone of his voice I can tell that we are no longer on the same side. We are no longer a team. I'm beginning to think that this "business stuff" pretty much bites and even though I look the part quite superbly, I'm perhaps,not cut out for it...

Time to admit defeat....

"I don't think I did." Well, almost admit defeat....

"Good Lord..." Is all he can say.

"Look, I've never 'been in on' this 'tax stuff' before, Frank."

"Hey, Paige, it's fine." The accountant says, even though it's clearly not fine...

"You should've explained it to me, I'm sorry, Frank." We'd been married ten years at this point, he was aware I'd never been in on the tax preparation. Of course, in his defense, had I put half the time into tax preparation as I'd put into wardrobe preparation, we'd be set...and very, very organized....

So, admitting complete defeat, I picked up my bag and exposed the dirty little secret I'd been hiding inside.

I dumped all the "tax crap" onto the accountant's very large, very tidy and very organized desk.

And with a little laugh to myself, I couldn't help but notice two things:

His very large, very tidy and very organized desk was no longer very tidy or very organized and with all my crap spilled out onto it.

But now my Coach tote bag was...

My Coach tote was now very tidy and very organized....and very empty. Then I had a thought...

I remembered how close this office is to the mall and, looking so sharp, admitting defeat, I leftall that tax crap with them and went shopping.

I now had an hour to kill and a tote bag to fill.....