All I want for tax season is a lot of money back. A lot. Please.

Look at that couple. Doing their taxes, all pensive and concerned. Crunching numbers (without a calculator). He's scratching his chin, they're worrying about how they can get claim the pool as a work-related expense.

That's pretty much the scene in this apartment, minus the pool, me standing over Dave's shoulder and that blue plaid shirt.

Dave's trying to save us some money by doing my taxes. His were more complicated than mine, since they included three states'; ergo, it was a tad expensive. My return is only comprised of two states. Lucky me. So easy as pie, right?

Well. To a tax collector, maybe. He sounds like a number-crunching nerd: it's a 1040-A, box 7, form 23-J, $3.50 from UT, a 747 and a A98134-C. Ugh. Boring.

He's on the phone with his parents, trying to sort it out -- "No! What page are you on??" I'm a little frightened.

I'm trying to tell him telepathically that I'm going to go to jail if he messes up, but I think that'd just be a joke to him. So. I wonder if they'll let me update my blog from prison?