We had the appointment with our tax preparer yesterday.
I dread the tax appointment more than almost anything else in life. My income is different every year and of course I never do the things my tax guy says I should to prepare. You know, the stupid stuff like save business receipts or pay quarterly taxes. So I’m always sure we’re going to owe a bazillion dollars and I’m going to get yelled at for being horrifically disorganized.
The appointment always goes better than I fear, but that fact doesn’t stop me from putting it off to the very last possible instant and losing sleep for months. This time I actually had to have this conversation with myself as I pulled into the parking lot of the tax office:
Hysterical Me: I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS.
Logical Me: What’s the worst thing that could happen?
Hysterical Me: He could say we need to pay $111,834 and if we can’t write a check right now he’s taking me to jail.
Logical Me: That’s probably unlikely.
Hysterical Me: But not completely out of the realm of possibility?
Logical Me: I’m not totally sure. But the worst thing isn’t death, right? So that’s totally something.
Hysterical Me: That’s true… I’m pretty sure I will live through the appointment.
Logical Me: See? And then it will be over. So focus on that. The tax appointment most likely won’t kill you. Plus, if you just continue to avoid this and pretend there’s no such thing as taxes, they probably will come and take you to jail. So… going to the appointment is definitely the best plan.
Hysterical Me: I feel like they probably don’t have wine or Diet Coke in jail. OK, I’m going.
I actually sort of feel bad for my tax guy because I’m not in the least bit shy about communicating how painful the whole process is for me. He emailed me a couple of days before the appointment to confirm and ended with, “I look forward to seeing you Monday.” I replied back, “I’m not sure I’ve ever looked forward to anything less.” Because I’m an asshole. Although really it’s his own fault for deciding to make his life’s work as The Guy Everyone Hates to See. It’s kind of like the dentist. Or my waxer. They knew what they were getting into.
The point is, I would rather do almost anything than go to my yearly tax appointment. In fact:
1. I’d rather attend two back-to-back elementary school beginner band concerts that my kid is playing in. It’s actually worse when your kid is playing in it, because you can’t just zone out and go to your happy place in your seat to escape the asynchronous noise that’s reverberating off the school gym/cafeteria’s walls. No, you have to engage and pay attention so if he sees you out in the audience you can wave and smile and then afterwards you can tell him which piece of ‘music’ you liked the best, all while your ear drums are being assaulted.
2. I’d rather brush my teeth with the toothpaste flavor my kids concocted by mixing together the normal mint paste and the watermelon flavored gel. They call it the minty watermelon.
3. I’d rather be a contestant on Survivor and be forced to go without makeup, grow out my armpit hair and detox from wine and Diet Coke simultaneously all while being filmed for national TV. (Like seriously it’s no wonder the people on that show act like lunatics.)
4. I’d rather watch that scary movie Felicity is in, at night, home alone, while Jason is out of town. You know the one I’m talking about? The one they’ve been playing the trailer on TV to where the birds fly into the house and Felicity bangs her head against the window until it breaks. Sometimes I have trouble sleeping just because I saw that commercial too close to bedtime.
5. I’d rather submit to a four hour session of Realtor Torture (aimless driving from house to house while starving and desperately needing to pee, yet still continuously smiling and maintaining small talk).
6. I’d rather see that guy break his leg in that basketball game on Easter five more times in a row. Even though it almost made me barf the first time I saw it.
7. I’d rather have a wax done after a year of not waxing by an attractive man who is clearly repulsed by the task at hand. It might be the perfect, truly evil combination of humiliation and pain, but I’d rather do that than have my taxes done. I would.
8. I’d rather eat ‘grut’. Grut is something a girlfriend of mine was served at a backwoods family reunion a few years ago. Apparently you boil milk, stir in flour until it makes a paste, spoon the paste onto your dinner plate and then mix in butter, sugar and cinnamon. That’s the whole meal. And it’s called ‘grut’ (just to add insult to injury). I’d rather eat that than go to my tax appointment.
9. I’d rather read books 2 and 3 of the 50 Shades of Grey trilogy. Book 1 almost killed me with equal parts boredom and rage at the insipidness of the characters. Reading books 2 and 3 would almost definitely cause the part of my brain that enjoys reading to die.
10. I’d rather find out I’m pregnant and have two years of forced sobriety, gaining 50 pounds, changing diapers and sleepless nights to look forward to… OK, no. I didn’t mean that. I actually would rather go to my tax appointment than that.
So… there’s something else positive to focus on: the tax appointment won’t likely end with me knocked up. THANK GOD.