Tax Time Fantasy
By: Cousin Mary (4-98)
You’re sitting at your kitchen table, your 1040 staring back at you, mocking you. You’re on you’re third pot of coffee, your heart is about to leap out of your chest and dance a jig, but yet your brain has apparently seized up. No matter how many times you add up the two columns of pitifully small numbers that signify your income, you come up short.
You glance at the pile of instructions, they were suppose to make the tax code understandable for the ‘average person,’ but right now you’re beginning to think their idea of an ‘average person’ must be an accountant with an advanced degree in economics. With a frustrated grunt you push the hair out of your eyes and again bring pencil to paper in the vain hope that this time everything will add up.
"A $17,890 refund?" You squint down at the number, doesn’t seem too likely. "Probably not." You sigh and erase your ‘creative’ math.
"Something wrong my dear?" A velvet voice intones behind you.
Spinning around, you narrowly stop yourself from spewing a mouthful of stale coffee all over the front of an immaculate black silk suit. You give an audible gulp before managing to croak out, "Nunkies?"
He chuckles lightly and indicates you should rise.
Despite wobbly knees, you comply. "What, why are you here?" You stare up at him with undisguised astonishment.
"To help of course." With a grand dramatic sweep of his arm he indicates your taxes.
"Uh, um." With a sudden flash of panic you begin to wonder what a 2000-year-old vampire, who’s been living in Canada for quite awhile now, knows about the American Tax code. Visions of Enforcer-like IRS agents coming to your door and dragging you off for tax fraud dance through your over-caffeniated mind. "That’s okay, I can…" You trail off, he looks annoyed.
"You are refusing my help?" His voice is light, but his eyes are narrowed dangerously.
"Uh, uh…" Deciding that a few years in the slammer are probably better than death, you force a smile and say, "Of course not, I’d never do that."
"Good." Lacroix claps his hands and suddenly a rather wimpy looking vampire accountant scurries into the room. "Percy, you will take care of these won’t you?"
With a nod, the fanged accountant pulls out a large calculator and sets to work.
You look on in awe as the tweed encased vamp quickly goes through your shoe box of receipts and begins filling out a long tax form for you, explaining you can deduct most of your expenses. Having never been brave enough to attempt the long for yourself, you have the almost overwhelming urge to offer this new vampire a plate of cookies, or failing that, your own neck. (Hey, once April 13th roles around you’re pretty desperate <g>)
Lacroix, seeing that you’re looking just a tad too grateful suggests a quick trip to Paris, "Until all this unpleasantness is over."
Your attention now firmly centered back on Nunkies, all you can do is nod your agreement.
With a half smile Lacroix sweeps you into his strong arms and wisks you away, far from your tax forms.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened there with Percy…blame it on the tweed…I love tweed and I can’t picture Nunkies in it. But the rest of it worked pretty well. <g>