The Tax Man Cometh

The final seconds ticked off the clock, knocking Duke (my bracket pick) out of the tournament.

A few minutes later, Tulo struck out with two on to give the Orioles (of all teams) an opening series win over the Yankees.

My phone vibrated:

“Taxes.”

One simple word displayed on my screen.

“Oh sh*t,” I said.

Kathy looked concerned.

“Are you sitting down?” My accountant said.

I laughed.

Funny guy. He says the same thing every year.

He asked me a couple of questions and then told me about Jake & Sam and their returns.

I felt myself actually holding my breath.

Then he mentioned our returns.

“Someone adjusted your withholdings, which was good.”

Now, it’s different than other years, but we didn’t get crushed, like I thought we might.

I was glad I was sitting down.

Yet, the tax man knocking at the door is a generations old fear for the working man...

...must be nice to be rich or “smart” enough to not have to worry about paying any.

I thought about Amazon and the deal they get.

Wondered about people who depend on something back and got nothing this year.

“That’s better than I thought,” I mentioned to my accountant.

“Makes you want to jump out of bed tomorrow morning,” he answered.

(He was a friend of my Dad. Funny guy).

Yet, it was a weight lifted off...

...actually...

...especially since there’s no bracket cash this year!