Murphy’s Law: Anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Don’t you hate those days? We all have them and they suck. You feel sorry for yourself, complain, stay in a foul mood, wallowing in your own self-pity. On the bright side though, focus on the positive – when you recountyour tragic tale, tearing up thinking about your crappy luck, keep in mind that you might be able to provide a really entertaining story for your friends.
My friend had one of those days last week and while I feel for her, this email had me cracking up at her expense. So obviously I offered outraged words of comfort and immediately (and very sensitively of course) asked if I could please share with all of you. Just looking out for you guys. Enjoy:
This is what happened to me.
Doug* and Micah out of town camping for weekend with some stupid guy group.
Friday, the accountant emails me that I have to get our tax shit in Monday and they will do their best. (Panic setting in. I do a puzzle. Procrastinate. Color with Sally. Watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.)
Doug says they will be back early on Sunday. They stroll in at 4:30 (have ignored all 37 calls and texts – apparently no cell coverage. Even 5 minutes from our house? I’m pretty sure my phone works outside of our kitchen). Dumbass. I tell him of tax emergency.
Sunday night he proceeds to spray paint a piece of plywood that he needs for a golf tournament the next day.
Monday he gets up at 8. I tell him I need the tax info NOW. “I’ll get it when I can get it. When do you expect me to go to my office?”
“RIGHT NOW MOTHER F***ER. I EXPECT YOU TO GET UP AND DO IT RIGHT NOW. I AM NOT GOING TO JAIL FOR YOU! THIS IS TAX EVASION! FELONY!” (Side note, at least in jail I will have nothing to do but work out and beat people up.)
I tell him to call the accountant at his office and reprint the tax documents. I will call her. What is her name? I will go to her office. He emails her. OMG. Grab sack you asshole! Get this done! Do not just email people. He is such an enabled baby.
On WEDNESDAY he gets a copy of the 1099 and not other information. He doesn’t know. I want to kill him. I tell people that I want to kill him. If I kill him, I will be instantly found guilty with incriminating texts and emails that say I want to kill him. It will not be a crime of passion or self-defense. Now I am in jail for murder and tax evasion. All dreams of a Martha Stewart white collar jail experience out of the question. I wear bright orange and pick up trash on the highway chained to a Mexican drug lord. I still beat people up and become skinny – I have priorities.
I get home from work on Wednesday at 4 pm. Doug is not feeling good. Of COURSE YOU LAZY ASSHOLE YOU ARE SICK. I take the copy of his 1099 (which states how poor we are) and grab the tax folder and the children. I need them to use the carpool lane (3 people) and it is RUSH HOUR. I drop off taxes across bridge. Bright note: accountant has candy bowl! Kids are happy. Reese’s pieces and kit kats. Yum.
Pull out of tax office. Car dies 3 blocks later in middle of street. I cannot push car anywhere. I have work clothes on and 2 worthless carpool kids. We proceed to cause traffic jam with stupid people that do not go around car with hazard lights on. Dammit! Motorcycle cop comes. He has mustache and is nice. I like him. 30 minutes later 2 chop shop drag racer guys offer to push car. I love them and I hug them. One declares that he has a concealed weapon to the cop. The cop confirms that he has already noticed and can he push his gun down farther. What? I hugged guy with gun? Street cred for jail. I still love him. I have no way to thank them – other than stale goldfish and dirty socks from trunk of car. I suck. They push my car into coke distributorship and tow truck comes.
Tow truck comes and thinks I am stupid girl. I don’t care. He is old and his name is Jack and he stinks like cigarettes. I love him too, he is nice to me, because he thinks I am stupid. In jail, I will smoke. Even skinnier. This is all working out. He tows away worthless car. See ya, asshole. (Car = asshole. Tow truck guy = best friend)
Me and 2 carpool kids in coke parking lot. Some guy offers kids drinks from his minivan – after all we are in a beverage company parking lot! Yes! Go with him! Get a free drink! He has a window-less van and is offering you free sugary treats! I let them go. I am now in jail for tax evasion, murder, and child neglect. Never getting out. Terrible citizen, wife, mother. Skinny and wear orange for life.
Doug picks us up – he has not answered phone again. We are waiting in parking lot. Drinking free coke and powerade and smart water. Everyone so nice! I want to marry guy with gun, old tow truck smoker guy, and coke distributor. Will ask them to visit me in the pen.
I filled out 27 pages of a tax preparation folder. Dug through piles of receipts and credit card bills and tax forms. He gets ONE COPY. I want to kill him. Wish I had asked the gun guy how he gets to carry a gun and where do I get one.
*Names have been changed for protection/humiliation factors.