This is a story that is going to make me come off as spoiled and entitled. Meh. I’m going to tell it anyway.
My father has done my taxes for my entire adult life. This year he cut me off.
“Ashleigh, it will be so easy. You aren’t married, you aren’t living with anyone, no children, you didn’t even own a home. It won’t take you more than a half hour.” Oh hello, complisult! Almost didn’t see you there.
I begged and pleaded, I even tried
crocodile tears but he wouldn’t budge! See blogsters, it’s not that I can’t do my own taxes, it’s that I don’t want to do them. I come from the school of ‘never do anything you can get someone else to do for you’. My mother taught me that, and it has served me well. Until today…
So this morning I sat down with coffee, all my T form thingies, RRSP info and did my taxes. It took me 42 minutes. I hated every one of them. When I was done, I texted my father who defected to Florida to avoid any further harassment from yours truly. Good luck, Dougie! I will find you wherever you go!
And, since I am a kind and loving daughter (despite the fact that you abandoned me during tax season) I will not point out to the entire internetz that you made a grammatical error. Love you too!