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A Quick Deduction

"Remember to buy your monkey suspenders so you can pass them off as a dependent."

“Remember to buy your monkey suspenders so you can pass them off as a dependent.”

Ugh, I don’t even know how I’m going to write this post, I’m so distracted by Salvador Perez pressing his face against the front window and mewing like we never feed him and don’t let him sleep in the warm basement, on a couch he has all to himself. That cat has no responsibilities. He really needs to get a job and stop staring at me.

*Goes to get coffee and ignore possessed animal*

Ok, the cat left, so I can get back to the grind, which more or less includes feeding the children and preparing excuses for my tax person. Normally, I do our taxes, and I relish every single deduction I’m guessing we can take, but this year I’m handing over the reigns to a professional. Husband’s relieved, if only for the reason we don’t have to have this conversation anymore:

Normally, I do our taxes, and I relish every single deduction I’m guessing we can take, but this year I’m handing over the reigns to a professional. Husband’s relieved, if only for the reason we don’t have to have this conversation anymore:

“So, you finished the taxes?”
“Yep!”
“And you think everything was done right?”
“Maybe!”

I have faith in my ability to answer yes or no questions on an automated program, but there are certain complications this year prompting me to call people who don’t do taxes in a bathrobe, while wearing leopard print slippers and yelling, “Who turned the thermostat to ninety?” My only concern hinges on how much explanation I’ll need to do with the person I get the all important appointment with.

Tax Person: So, when it asked if you were single or not, you’ve said “yes” for the last five years?”

Me: Yeah, for one reason or another, Husband and I are usually fighting during tax season, so I get a little passive aggressive.

Tax Person: And it says here you claimed twelve dependents last year.

Me: Yes.

Tax Person: You only have three children.

Me: But it feels like I have twelve.

Tax Person: Mrs. Kellerman?

Me: Yes?

Tax Person: You can’t write off things you buy at the liquor store.

Me: Those are business expenses.

Tax Person: You don’t own a business.

Me: You’re obviously not aware of how much booze it takes to run our little abode.

It’s a work in progress. Mostly, I’m still waiting on W2s and 1099s and someone to pull the cat away from the window. The actual conversation I have when sitting down with the professionals should be ten times more horrifying. I’ll keep you posted.

Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com, and is the author of At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles: Mostly-True Tales of An Impending Miracle. You can reach her at paigekellerman@gmail.com.


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