Ten Things I Have To Do Before I Can File My Taxes

Because family is everything. What kind of father am I if the weekend roles around and I’m all “Oh, Daddy can’t play with you girls now, I have to go do our taxes.”

I remember how my Dad was always too busy for me on the weekends, because he ‘worked’ weekends at the ‘hospital’ where he was ‘chief of surgery’ or some other thing.

NOTE TO SELF: While spending quality time with girls, see if they know their Social Security Numbers. I’m pretty sure I need those. See if they know Wife’s number too.

Been promising to do this for months, or if Wife’s word is to be taken seriously, ‘years’. How mad is she going to be if I put it off again with some lame excuse about doing taxes?

Seriously, if I have to hear one more time about how I “Made a commitment”, how “I said I’d do it and I’ll do it”, how my failure to fix the garage door is a symptom of my self destructive, ruinous, untreated depression, I will just go completely nuts. I mean what the hell, if I was constantly nagging Supermom about some fucking broken garage door, she’d be depressed too!

What, is their something related to my penis that means only I can fix a damn door, is that why it’s my responsibility, if I hacked off my Johnson could I get a few seconds of peace and quiet? Jesus!

Oh, it is not April already!

Fuck.

Taxes are friggin’ complicated enough without having to answer god damn personal questions about money when you’re so sleep deprived you’re ready to crack as it is. I don’t think a few nights in my own bed is too much to ask before pushing the Sysaphean stone of my finances up the damn mountain to “Just Taxes”. If she’s that damn mad at me, she can spend the night on the fucking couch for once.

And if those kids wake me up before Nine, THEY can do the fucking taxes! I mean, my God! “Daddy, we need breakfast, we need to go to school, we need lunches for school!” It’s endless! DON’T THEY HAVE ANOTHER PARENT? Can I NOT be allowed one fucking DAY just to SLEEP!?