A Taxing Effort

I have been told countless times that I make things harder than they need to be. It doesn't matter how efficient I think I'm being, there is always someone else standing around to tell me that they could have done it better, and with less effort. It's taking a lot of effort not to smack these people, so maybe they're right. I do put too much effort into things.

I find certain things worthy of a bit more effort than normal. For example, before going on a vacation I think it is worth the effort to clean the house and make sure there are clean sheets on my bed before we leave. It's not because I think Goldilocks is going to come stumbling through, need a place to crash with her three bear-boyfriends, and note whether or not the beds have clean sheets on them. It's for that moment when you get home, walk in the door, and don't have to face dirty sheets and toys all over the floor. That's a lot of effort for a 30 second moment, but I find the investment worth it. (However, trying to convince my family that it's worth it is a lot more difficult.)

An even more difficult proposition on effort is taxes. Oh yes, I said the evil T-word! Kevin recently asked me who did our taxes. See, he has his taxes done by an accountant. So when he asked me who does my taxes, I had to laugh - and then explain. I'm married to a rocket scientist; the man would take it personally if I went and asked anyone else to solve the complex mathematical convoluted mess that constitutes our nation's tax code as it relates to us. I know... because I have tried four times to sneak it all out of the house and over to someone who actually knows what they're doing.

I need to preface this with a small explanation of how finances work here. When Mr. Savy and I met we obviously each had our own set-up going. I had my nice, neat little accounts, he had several of his own... but we had one fundamental difference in approaches. I'm a sort of "cover my butt" kind of girl. If I spent $1.12, I wrote it in my checkbook as $2. If I deposited $1.12, I wrote it as only $1. Now, this served to make sure I never went seriously dyslexic and ended up bouncing checks, which I was inordinately afraid to do after living on my own and supporting way too many bills (because of an unemployed jerk ex-boyfriend) on $4.25 an hour. I think it was a dandy system, even now.

Mr. Savy, on the other hand... well, when he found out he went ballistic. Seriously. In front of my parents. Things were hollered like "How can ANYONE keep an account like this? You have NO idea what is really in your account! Who does this? Are you nuts!??!!" This was right before we moved in together, and I lost the argument that we should keep our accounts separate. He was trying to merge them. Eventually, he realized that he would be spending more on an apartment with separate bedrooms if he didn't knock it off, and backed off.

I am budget queen. I know how everything works, remember where the money goes, and I worry almost incessantly about it. He is detail king, he can make every penny tally up when he reconciles things, and does the taxes. Together we're a powerhouse of financial...well.. maybe not. Anyway, it works now... except during tax time.

Here is how doing taxes works in the Savy household:

1) Get all the W-2's and W-whatevers that we're supposed to have from how many different people? Usually at least one shows up late, or wrong, and we end up having to wait an extra month or two while it's sorted out.

2) Worry over the W-whatevers, because they're still not here. Apparently they're being mailed from Antarctica and the penguins like to snack on the postage stamps. I hassle Mr. Savy to make some calls to check on it, because isn't there some sort of rule that they have to have them to you by early February?

3) All the paperwork finally arrives, but I'm not aware of it because Mr. Savy hides them in an attempt to circumvent our traditional tax-dance ultimate fighting cage match. He then forgets where he hid them, and taxes get put off for an additional month while we search.

4) Tax paperwork begins. Mr. Savy sequesters himself with the computer, piles of paper receipts and other various items, a large soda, and an insanely complicated scientific calculator (while I make snotty comments about him graphing the results, because who needs a scientific calculator for taxes? Why can't he use the normal one, or even my financial calculator?)

5) Mr. Savy locks the door. I stare at him through the glass, and then pick the lock reminding him of my more questionable youth, which has come in handy when the kids accidentally locked themselves in the basement... he didn't really think that was going to work, did he? Mr. Savy admits defeat and shoos me away.

6) I come back an hour later to peer over his shoulder, because I'm annoying like that. He ignores me. I contemplate for a moment and then start saying things like "Are you sure about that number? Did you add line 42A with 105B correctly? Wait... don't we get a deduction for this?" Mr. Savy starts fuming. Literally. Steam out the ears, it's really quite entertaining. Well, up until we start arguing.

7) Generally I am proven wrong in my complaint at this point (at least to his satisfaction) and I go off to sulk. Then Mr. Savy takes a break to get something to snack on, and I sneak back into the office and try to look up something to prove I am right. Usually reorganizing the receipts as I go - partially because I think they're in the wrong order, and the other part is because I know it'll annoy the crap out of Mr. Savy and I'm still sulking.

8) I present my findings. We argue. He ignores me. I leave.

9) Mr. Savy comes looking for me about an hour later. It's his turn to yell at me about my shoddy record keeping for my two businesses (no, I haven't been rounding the withdrawals and deposits... he set up this excel spreadsheet that actually does graph things, and I refuse to use it. I may be more spiteful than I realized.) I yell back at him.

10) Time to crack a bottle of wine.

11) He goes back to working, and then approaches me cautiously to give me a "pre" finished tax number. I argue that cannot be right, did he remember this? That? Huh? More yelling. More wine. We both get put into time out in separate rooms.

12) I suggest the tax professional, he yells about how wonderful his tax software is and how he's been through everything multiple times... and then offers me another glass of wine.

13) Eventually, as I rarely drink and one glass of wine pretty much puts me on the floor (and I'm likely on my fourth glass at this point) I am laid back enough to say "Whatever honey. Wow, *hic* taxes done. Y*hic*..yay! Yer'da'best. *hic* Where do I *hic* sign?"

And thus ends tax season in the Savy household. As we almost never fight, I imagine that this is sort of an exercise of releasing pent up frustration. Or it could just be that our government sucks and taxes are horrible. According to the census, we're the most taxed state... though I hear a few states were insulted by that and are now going for the title. Apparently, we intend to give them a good fight though. All my interference has resulted in some good finds now and then however, one year our tax return went from us owing to us getting back $1200 because of what I found! (That's my defense, and I'm sticking to it.)

We haven't done our taxes yet. Mr. Savy said it's because we just received all the corrected paperwork. I think it's because I've been sick and can't drink any alcohol. He is a smart man, after all.