Taxes.
Bah. Humbug.
Filing earlier than usual this year thanks to my friend FAFSA.
No matter.
Whether now, two months, or five years from now, tackling the 1040 always begs the following question:
WHO THE HELL DEVISED THESE DAMNABLE FORMS?
If you made more than 10 bucks this year, draw the eye of a newt on line 39a.
Subtract your great-grandmother's shoe size from the year you were born, add how much you weighed in 1962 and put the lesser of the two on line 40.
Now bark like a dog.
Write "MY FREAKING LIFE SAVINGS" on line 41a.
And that, you wretched working slob, is what you owe Uncle Sam.
Oops.
I appear to be ranting. Possibly raving.
Sorry.
Taxes + FAFSA + subzero temps = 1 cranky mama.
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