Tax season is that delightful time of year when I’d rather sit through dental extractions than figure out our tax returns. Like brave souls, HHH and I marched into our CPA’s office, papers in hand, ready to pay for the privilege of knowing if our return was right or wrong.
When widowhood was brand new in 2021, I needed a Certified Public Account. “There’s only one guy you want. He’s saved me bundles and he’s fabulous,” said my trusted friend. With hope and prayers, I put together a preliminary return and drove an hour west. Carefully, he looked everything over and assured me I’d done a wonderful job.
Since then, there have been far more complications with marriage, a rental, depreciation, and investments. EvenTurbo Tax groaned under the weight of it all. Waking up in terror, I caved and told HHH we’d need to see the tax man again. Surely this time, I couldn’t have things dialed in.
After snatching the last available appointments for 2025, we made our pilgrimage to the CPA’s office, clutching our collection of receipts and forms with the hope that this year, maybe, we did understand our tax situation. I handed him the preliminary tax return with the confidence I imagine a first-time skydiver has before jumping out of the plane: “I think I entered everything, but let’s see how this goes.”
He gave it a cursory glance, nodded a little, and then dropped the bombshell.
“Looks like your taxes are perfect already. Not much I could’ve improved here.”
Pause.
“Excuse me, what?” You could’ve knocked me over with a 2024 W-2. “Perfect? Are you sure? There are no mistakes? No hidden deductions I’ve missed? No random loophole I forgot to exploit?”
“Yes,” he shrugged, “you’re good. These returns are already flawless.”
I stared at him, stunned because this had only happened once before. Taxes aren’t supposed to be perfect. Taxes are always beginning with a mountain of paperwork while hoping Turbotax turns forms and receipts into a manageable return.
“Are you… sure?” I asked, trying not to sound like I was in denial. “You’ve actually checked everything? All deductions, credits, obscure tax laws from the 1800s?”
“Yes. Everything looks fine. Even your depreciation. Good Going!!!”
At this point, I’d just received an Award For Excellence in the form of our tax return. We went expecting tears, sweat, and at least one “I’ll have to file an extension” moment for our trouble. Naturally, we did what responsible adults would do: We started questioning him like we were the CPA.
“Are you sure my deductions are legit?” I asked again. “Is it possible that we could write off expenses for our honey business? (Which we never started, but did consider.) ”
He rolled his eyes like a seasoned tax professional who’s heard it all before. “Bee’s aren’t deductible unless you’re running a real business selling real honey. How many hives do you have?”
With that question, I was happy to return to earth explaining the only hive we did have died in the fall. HHH and I will be happy to submit a clean return without any business complications.
I wondered if we’d stumbled into some alternate universe where our taxes were actually… normal. Was this happening? Where was the drama? The intrigue? The stress of knowing that we might’ve accidentally claimed Wookie and Oliver as dependents? (Don’t ask, don’t tell…and no we didn’t)
The only thing remaining was an awkward silence as we considered the resolution without drama. It was like finishing a favorite show and realizing there was no cliffhanger. The writers didn’t bother, because they’d already wrapped things up neatly.
I left the office floating on a cloud. My CPA handed back our paperwork as if I was some kind of tax wizard. I guess this year I was the tax wizard.
Next year, I’m taking in a shoebox of receipts just to see if I can get him to sweat a little. Because, there’s no way taxes can ever truly be this easy, right?
