Now is the time for all good men to collect stuff. Before you know it, receipts will be flying off the shelves in keeping pace with looking ahead – it's tax preparation time. This whole process is about as painful as any product you can find on the drugstore shelf with the name "Preparation" written across it.
Listen up – the government knows you haven't even taken your Christmas decorations down. So you better get serious now, because no one knows what's in the new tax bill. Taxes are especially difficult for people like me, whose idea of high finance is being able to locate the nearest ATM machine. Well, that and being able to recall my PIN number and then having the manual dexterity to wrestle my card back out of the machine without falling out the car window.
We hear that there are big changes in the tax laws today. But if we look back in history, probably the basic premise is the same.
It goes like this: You work 24/7, sweating and toiling as many hours as possible. Then you give a portion, well, let's call it a portion rather than a slab, of your earnings to the government and keep whatever is left over for things you can afford, like patching the holes in the bottom of your shoes with cardboard or the tent you are forced to list as your address.
In fact, originally this arm of the government was called The Department of Just Hand it Over. That, of course, didn't sound right so they changed it to the Internal Revenue Service. The folks who work for the IRS are still laughing over the word "service" in their name. Yes, some citizens actually try to call the telephone number, only to send more laughter echoing through government buildings.
In any case, now I just bring my pathetic receipts and excuses to my accountant, whenever he returns from his chalet in Switzerland. With all the new changes in the tax code, which no one seems to understand, it is only fair that deadlines are now emboldened in red.
This keeps them consistent with the shade of your balance sheet anyway. Taxes are at least something great we all have in common and can complain about loud and clear. United we stand on April 15.
Most people don't mind paying their fair share of money for safety and reasonable expenses any government would incur. But when your brother-in-law is getting paid by that government to count chickens in some remote county in Texas, let's just save time and have that aneurysm now.
The scariest part of tax season, though, revolves around the fear of being audited.
Once you open that mail slot and send your return off to a government agency, you start to remember some things you probably should have mentioned, like those winnings in Vegas, and of course the scratch-off lottery.
But getting one of these letters informing you to bring every receipt and tax return is like being dragged down to the principal's office or having your husband shove a Visa credit card bill under your nose demanding an explanation.
These audits always involve some year a decade ago when you probably had a very active imagination. Sure, you shouldn't have listed those cruises as an underwater maintenance recovery for damage to your home deduction.
Yeah, that was a mistake. The experts tell us that there are a lot of red flags that will automatically kick in an audit. Anything with the Rev. Moon included as a relative will be enough not only for a letter, but a phone call.
The other red flag is keeping those holiday decorations around. Here's a tip to get started. No worries here.
Next year, you'll find those holiday lights wrapped in a ball next to a blow-up doll of Dolly Parton in the garage.
The deflated Santa is now in the DelDOT warehouse in a bin marked Election Lost and Found. And the income receipts are under the third cushion on the couch, or the cushion with the most food stains. Good luck.
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Nancy Katz has a degree in creative writing and is the author of the book, "Notes from the Beach." She has written the column Around Town for the Cape Gazette for twenty years. Her style is satirical and deals with all aspects of living in a resort area on Delmarva.
