You know that classic argument between Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck: "It's Duck Season! It's Wabbit Ssseason! Duck Season - Wabbit Season!" Well, in my head around the end of February, it goes, "It's Tax Season! It's Dwinking Season, Tax Season - Dwinking Season," it's yet another distraction that helps me to procrastinate filing our taxes.
Early Sunday morning, I woke up with every intention of starting our taxes. But then the six-year old crawled into my bed and asked if he could sleep in with mommy. He never sleeps in. So, really it would have been cruel of me to deny him that luxury on his final day of his mid-winter recess. We slept until 9:45 am.
I wish I could say that the extra two hours were refreshing. Instead, I dreamt the whole time that I was getting out of bed to do other things that further put off filing our taxes. Things like...polishing the stairway banister with a baby wipe. That's right, I cleaned all fifty-two spokes in my dream. If my dream was enjoying a Cosmo at the Four Season's hotel you bet something would've woke me up before I took my first sip. But no, when I dream about cleaning the house, I clean the whole friggin' thing - jeez.
Needless to say, I was rather grumpy when I finally made it out of bed. To top it off, I got my period. Now, normally I don't think there's ever a reason to announce one's cycle but for this particular entry - it is...so fitting. Death and taxes just aren't enough for women. We have to add a third inevitable, pain-in-the-uterus to contend with. Every stupid month.
Have a happy period, my ass. For me, it's more like have a happy bludgeoning. And this was my delightful attitude that morning that caused my husband to wisely sneak out with the boys - leaving me to my own devices to file our taxes.
First, I dilly-dallied. Forty minutes of checking junk e-mails and gawking at our cell phone bill but not paying it - finally, I picked up the stack of paper: receipts, last year's return and my husband's W-2. Feeling sadly nostalgic of the days when I had a W-2 of my own I decided to play some music to set a better mood.
i-Tunes has this funny "Radio" feature that streams playlists from every genre from Country to Rock to Gospel - you name it. Against my better judgment, I chose Jazz. I don't know, somehow I thought the tinkling piano, sultry saxophones and bumbling mumbo-jumbo of skat-singing would be relaxing. And it does create a mood when you're swirling a snifter of bourbon while watching the sun set but while crunching numbers and answering personal life questions to an on line tax program, Jazz music starts to sound well, just a little sarcastic.
While I'm contemplating, how much can we contribute to an IRA this year...some Harry Connick Jr. sounding dude is singing a jazzed version of "If I Only Had A Brain."
Ho-kaaay. Why don't I just jump out of the frying pan and into the fire then. I clicked on the comedy station - The Social Crime Network. Immediately, Hugh Fink's skit on Comedy Central started to stream. Beginning with his dad mixing up gay terminology to the sarcastic Chinese waiter, by the time my husband deemed it safe enough to come back into the house, he found me laughing at the computer with tears streaming down my face.
"What the Hell are you doing?" He yelled.
Thirty-minutes later, we're all sitting around my computer laughing like hyenas listening to Ron White followed by Larry the Cable Guy. Of course, our taxes did NOT git-r-done. Plus our four-year old demonstrated the importance of censorship by mimicking a few colorful phrases perfectly. But for a day attempting to file taxes, I was in a much better mood - Uncle Sam can wait another day before claiming more of our money.
As for the other inevitable punishment in life, I started to wonder - could a "happy period" be possible after all?
Not until a box of tampons comes with a six pack of Heineken.