taxing

The Pastor proposed to me in March.

We got married three weeks later.

I attributed this whirlwind courtship to the things my fantastical romantic imagination usually comes up with: love, passion, romance, unmitigated desire and spring fever.

Five years later, I have removed the rose colored glasses. I had to in order to work with all the receipts, numbers and spreadsheets.

Now I know it wasn't any of the things I thought. It was tax season.

I have been saving receipts, organizing receipts, filing receipts and entering numbers into spreadsheets all year. And people? Let's just say Math Barbie wasn't my favorite doll. Each year the Pastor is - very sneakily - growing more and more removed from the entire process. All he had to do this year was sit with me for an hour and read some data so I could finalize everything.

It was at that meeting that I had to make a choice. I was conflicted - should I put up with my whining, petulant husband ("I don't wannnnnnnnnnnnnna look at the receipts!" I'm sleepy!") or start making up stuff, commit tax fraud, and go to prison.

It was a tough call, but don't worry, I did the right thing.

The Pastor owes me big time now. My fantastical imagination is at it again - wondering what he is going to buy me for all this hard work.

That'll be one receipt that mysteriously disappears.