It’s that time of year…

The hubby just came in from an afternoon spent sorting out our taxes and showed me (to the tune of hundreds of dollars) how I dropped the ball by incurring late fees and interest rates.  I HATE THAT!  I hate throwing perfectly good money out the window.  Why couldn’t he have simply left me in my ignorant bliss?

I blame the children.  They distracted me.

I also blame menopause.  I can’t remember when the actual due date of each (and there are plenty) bill.

I also blame Andy Williams (may he rest in peace).  Not sure why I am blaming poor Andy, since I love him.  At any rate, one of his Christmas ditties inspired me to write the following.  You may wish to sing it at your house.

Ahhhh, hemmm.  Here we go:

It’s the most horrible time of the year 
When the husband is yelling
And the IRS is telling you something to fear 
It’s the most horrible time of the year 

It’s the crap-crappiest season of all
With those 1040 tax forms and  and letters to inform you owe Uncle Sam your soul 

It’s the crap- crappiest season of all 
There’ll be dwindling tax shelters leading to homeless shelters  and having to sleep in the snow 

There’ll be scary audit stories  and now we are sorry about purchases from long, long ago 

There’ll be much Pepto-Bismol  and things sure look dismal  when April fifteenth comes near 

There’ll be much pencil throwing and hearts will be glowing  with horrible heartburn severe 

It’s the most horrible time

It’s the most horrible time

It’s the most horrible tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiime!

Of the year!

Happy Taxes, everyone! 

Carolyn

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2 Comments

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, Cussing, Dads, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood

2 responses to “It’s that time of year…

  1. Jill Foster

    Ah Carolyn…I feel your pain… Better 2015?

  2. You wicked songstress! I should be allowed to write off “Donations to public library” for the fines I have incurred. My take: It’s the library…they deserve the money. Tim’s take: Probably more like Matt’s.

    I have learned, I need about a one-month vacay (no forwarding address, no phone, no email) while Tim pulls out the previous year’s bills. We should plan for that getaway next year, hot mama.

    Will be humming all day.
    –Wendy

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