Two Sure Things

Sunday Morning
February 27, 2011

Within marriage some things tend to settle out quickly as assumed duties of either the wife of the husband.  Around these parts, for most of the mundane tasks the gender boundary is blurred; husband and wife share grocery shopping, laundry (i.e. we share cleaning laundry, not wearing her laundry) and cooking.  Floor sweeping is the almost exclusive domain of the wife, while lawn mowing, trash removal and car maintenance are almost always the duties of the husband.

When it comes to the two certainties in life, death and taxes it seems only meet and proper that there be a split right down the middle in the handling of these two important duties.  One spouse should take care to service the immortal soul and the other take care of the internal revenue service.  Choose one: Death (and the immortal soul) or Taxes.

Sunday morning dawns relatively early and it is the wife who is up first to shower, dress up pretty, put on her face and make her way to minister to the Christian education of Preston Hollow Presbyterian's kids and to joyfully follow them into worship after the Sunday School hour.  Bedighted in Spring fashion finery, Sue's Sunday is spent as she serves to communicate God's love to the children and then to attend a service of worship for our omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent God, keeper of our immortal soul. It is a time to focus on the soul. Once the shower and mirror space has been vacated, it is my lot to roll out of bed early on this Sunday and prepare my self in this season of the 1040 to be of service to our omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent Internal Revenue Service.  It is time to focus on the finances, it is tax time.

It must have been about this time of year back around 1995, when I had spread out my Form 1040, Schedule A and B etc. in the upstairs office, when 3 1/2 year old Inga came in alone and noticed lots of paper.  With my ink pen sitting nearby, handy for signing Form 1040 after a final review of all the hand calculated numbers, Inga set to doing what one is expected to do as a preschooler when presented with a stack of unadorned papers, one is to draw and express themselves.  Ah, my darling little tax credit; how I now wish I had filed your doodles along with your Dad's doodles that year.

This season finds Inga off doodling on papers for her sophomore year at college [note to self: find Form 1098-T and look for Education Tax Credits] and only the dog comes in occasionally to check things over.  [note to self: If I got a smart breed of dog, say for example, a Viennese Actuarial Schnauzer, I wonder if I could deduct her vet bills and doggy treats, if I document that the Actuarial Schnauzer helped me do my taxes?  Or, if I got a puppy, I wonder if I could file for a tax deadline extension, reporting to the IRS that "my dog ate my return"?]  While the wife is among her community of believers, surrounded by soaring sounds of praise; I on the other hand am alone in my office uttering grousing sounds of dissatisfaction.  It is not even so much as I hate paying tax dollars; the most of it is I hate spending so much of my time putting together spreadsheets of expenses and organizing documents to fill in each tedious box on my return.  Honestly, it makes my teeth itch.

Even if I nix the Viennese Actuarial Schnauzer idea, and consider using the services of my accountant friends, by the time I get all of the spreadsheets and documents in order for the professionals, I might as well do it myself using today's on line tax programs.  My teeth would still itch anyway. 

So, it being a split of Sue goes to Church and tend to the soul and I stay home to do the taxes, I make it a day of contrast.  I don't shower this morning, I don't shave this morning, I don't eat breakfast, nor do I brush my teeth this Sunday morning.  I am going to do my taxes feeling like one rough, tough, socially unacceptable, ornery and honest hombre.  In fact I am not going to even change my underwear.

To Secretary of the Treasury, Mr. Timothy Geithner, who did not even pay his taxes until he was confirmed as a member of Obama's cabinet, I say "eat my shorts" - cause I've been wearin' 'em for 2 days. 

Many Happy Returns!