“You have all the documents?” Tex* asked me before we sat down to do my taxes. “Yes” I said even though it was a lie. But it was the kind of lie I tell often like when he asks me if I know what happened to the peanut butter. I ate it, by the spoonful, until there was only thin layer left in the plastic container that you’d have to have the tongue of a St. Bernard in order to eat. Or “How did my jeans end up under the couch?” I put them there, I don’t remember why, at the time I had an excellent reason. And lastly the best one “Can you help me find my favourite jam? I can’t see it in the fridge.” I ate that too, funnily enough not with the peanut butter.
Given all of that, somehow Tex was still surprised when we started doing my taxes and I had nothing, not even a Statement of Earnings with me. “Where’s your Notice of Assessment?” he asked. “I dunno” I shrugged. Tex looked at me for a moment then started to explain “You know the document the government sends you telling you how much money you can put into a retirement fund?”
In my defense the government sends me lots of things, like parking tickets telling me not to block people’s driveways. As well as reminders to renew my driver’s license even though it’s obvious based on my choice of parking spots that I shouldn’t be allowed to drive.
I might be on the line. (Photo Credit : haphappy.com)
“It’s an important piece of mail” Tex prodded me, attempting to physically and verbally cajole my memory. Seeing as I have a habit of filing my Notices of Assessment next to pictures of naked backs, the document could have been anywhere. It was at that point that we gave up the ghost and continued on with our evening, leaving my taxes for another day.
I recognize that as a grown woman I should do my taxes alone however earlier that week while filling out paperwork for my job dictating who should receive my pension if I die, I wrote “The Public Library”, which is normal enough, lots of people donate to that hallowed place. But in the box where it said “Describe relationship” I stumbled. I tried to think of the most accurate and appropriate description. “My favourite place in the world” that doesn’t work, it’s not really a relationship. “Literal and imaginary safe haven” seemed over the top. So I wrote “Love of my life” and was done with it. Tex declared that I was liable to receive a call from head office and should be supervised when filling out paperwork from now on.
To learn how to file your important documents in with free samples of laundry detergent and old twist ties please click on the link below.
*Names have been changed to protect the identities of those who ask what happened to foodstuffs even though they know I’ve eaten it. If you don’t want me to eat the delicious things, they shouldn’t be stored within my reach.
The Great Unwashed 