I feel like ick.
Like some distant, inbred cousin of the tooth fairy, ostracized from Mythical Creature Land for pulling the eyelashes off of baby unicorns, visited me during the night and shoved some cement up my nose, scraped my throat raw with sand paper and is now sitting atop my head, using it as her own personal thigh master.
Luckily, we’re going to my mother-in-law’s house today to eat and then going to my former mother-in-law’s house to see her new furbaby. Nothing takes the edge off a bad case of ick like having someone else cook dinner followed up by a brand new shiny puppy nuzzling your neck.
Speaking of ick, I leave you with a post I wrote last year about filing our income tax return. Apropos, no?
I wish you a happy ick-free Sunday.
Let’s play Russian Roulette with an IRS audit!
(originally published March, 2010)
Because I have raised nagging to an art form, we filed our taxes back in February and have already received a much needed refund which was spent before it even hit our checking account. As I sit here perusing our census form, I am convinced that had we thought a little more out of the box, we could have done even better on our taxes and I’d be typing this while fondling my brand spanking new Nikon D90.
For instance, we could have written off that box as a second residence.
And we forgot to claim a whole slew of dependents, like:
“IT WASN’T ME” who likes to eat all the Skinny Cow truffle bars before I even have one and who leaves empty boxes of Weight Watchers peanut butter cookies and FiberPlus Dark Chocolate bars in the pantry, just to screw with me.
“IT’S NOT MY TURN” who is allergic to clearing the table, cleaning the shower, rinsing a plate and taking Oliver out to potty.
“I DON’T KNOW” who spits gobs of toothpaste in the bathroom sink and nicks the kitchen granite countertop by dropping something heavy on it when no one is looking.
“I DID IT LAST TIME” who refuses to move laundry baskets from the downstairs to the upstairs because they are presumably made out of gravity.
“IN A MINUTE” who tells time by charting the stars and thusly, only moves from the couch once every nine days.
“HOW SHOULD I KNOW” who gets her jollies by hiding the cordless phone inside the couch and watching everyone else scramble around for it when it rings and when I say “everyone” I mean me, since I am the only one who ever answers the phone around here even though 99.99% of the time, it’s not for me.
“I’LL DO IT LATER” who looks suspiciously like a teenager.
Next year, by golly, we’re going to be a bit more creative. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even get a chance to take a portrait of our very own personal IRS auditor with my brand spanking new Nikon D90.
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