While Grey was doing our taxes yesterday, I sat beside him and made robotic beeping sounds with a calculator until he ordered me out of the room so he could compute in peace. That’s pretty much the extent of my math ability: randomly tapping buttons on a TI-82 and scribbling 43-17=??? on scraps of paper. If not for Grey’s mathematical skills, we’d most definitely be living in a cardboard box along side of I-395 in financial ruin because there is no way in hell I’d be able to oversee our budget.
When I was single, my parents took my W2s to their accountant, so quite honestly, I’ve never really taken responsibility for paying taxes by myself. Forking my loot over to Uncle Sam ranks right up there with car registrations and inspection in the category of “Things I Just Don’t Understand.” Reason #597 that marrying Grey was the right decision!
Of course, Grey is the most honest and meticulous person. Much to my annoyance, he only writes off 100% legitimate things. This year, I tried to sneak in a bunch of Sephora reciepts and clothing bills into the pile of tax papers as a “work related expense” (As a magazine columnist I have to get dolled up for work functions every once in a while!) but he refused my shady deductions. I tried to talk him into writing off all our dinners out and vacations, but he just mumbled some technical jargon about “audits” and “jail time” and ignored me.