Nothing reminds a gal that her cleaning skills aren’t quite up to par like coming across a ginormous squash on her cluttered kitchen counter. Well, you might think, squash are pretty common so I don’t get it. Here’s the thing: I haven’t bought squash in ages!!! This squash magically appeared like a fuzzy growth on leftovers. Cuppa in hand and pjs still on, I studied the large vegetable. As I pondered the state of the mess around me, hubby walked back in the house. “Um, do you know where this came from because I think it grew on our counter?!?” I asked as I held the giant yellow beast. “Oh, Tom sent that home with me. He grew it.” I was just relieved that my counter wasn’t so cruddy that it provided the right ph to grow vegetables. Moving on in my day, Al volunteered us to bring brats to the tailgate party after youngest sons’ football game. Brats and I are frenemies. Their yummy flavor tempts and taunts me but the greasy fat leaves me running for the bathroom and clutching my stomach. At the risk of being indelicate, I’ll continue this blog post but warn off the weak of heart. With my yahoo m.d., I’ve diagnosed myself with ibs. Fatty foods are a big trigger for me. Sausage can leave me curled in the floor in agony. My tummy is still hurting so spaghetti Saturday might morph into a get-it-yourself free for all. Maybe they can eat squash!
This has been a strange week. Allergies are kicking my ass and I’ve been sporting the worst headache. Headaches make me cranky; so do allergies. Little things bother me when I’m cranky. It’s those little things that simply send me around the bend. Earlier this week, I couldn’t find my can opener. Can openers and I have a history. Electric can openers hate me. I’ve never owned one worth a damn. Years ago, I swore them off and bought only manual ones. A manual can opener is a fickle thing. Buy one too cheaply constructed and you might as well toss it. But, you get the right one sometimes and it’s like heaven. I had a great one for years and my mom filched it from me. Since moving to Germany, I ordered one online that seemed like it might be the one. This can opener is the best. No, I mean it is freakin awesome!! It’s like the can opener you’d want to have during the zombie apocolypse. So, as I’m dumping stuff in the crockpot, I realized that one of my dear family members had moved it AGAIN! I’m seriously considering putting this can opener in a secure case. It was infuriating to have to scour the counter for it like a meth head looking for a fix. I took a step back and realized I might be overdramatizing the issue. I really should get out more. I will, but I’ll be taking my can opener with me.
In said effort to get out (and because I had some packages), I drove out to check our mail all the way across town. I’m recovering from my can opener fury when I look at one of the letters. It’s from the IRS regarding my mother’s estate. Apparently, when I had to revise her final tax return, penalties and interest accrued because she owed more than we thought. It was a very polite letter explaining why they had found that way and could I pay by 30 September too so I could avoid anymore pesky fees. Oh yeah, thanks for the payment with the amended return but it wasn’t enough. Now, I appreciate the explanation, the polite tone and even the letter telling me I could call to make payment arrangments (but hey, I’ll still pay penalties). However, I’d like to suggest to the IRS that they word their correspondence in the following way:
Dear tax payer,
Thanks for the amended return and payment. You rock! Before we go any further, you might want to pour yourself a drink. In your case, we’d recommend wine because while this might suck, you can totally cover it. Be glad you aren’t the poor schmuck we are telling to pour some whiskey!! Anyway, the point is that we have this pesky little thing called penalties and interest. You can try to negotiate, but honestly, you’d have an easier time with a Vegas loan shark. Just suck it up cupcake and break out your wallet. We might let those millionaires go ages without paying but not you, middle class loser, not even in the event of death. Hee hee. Death and taxes, right? Anyway, pony up bitch because we ain’t going away.
Sincerely, the IRS