Taxes are the Worst Because my Math is the WORST

My only questions in math classes were, “Can I bring Kleenex for extra credit? Is that once QUARTERLY? If not, when is the last day to transfer out of here?”

I definitely lean towards the arts. If only it could fill my bank account like it does my soul.

Or help me with taxes.

Unfortunately, no one is interested in Transcendentalism and other fascinating methods of literary criticism during tax season.

Instead of writing, I’ve been working on taxes the past few nights I’ve had off work. Alright, I’m not even “doing” my taxes, just preparing our eleventh-hour submission for our accountant. Just looking at all those numbers is still exhausting and terrible, though.

It gives me flashbacks to math classes and I can almost smell the pencil shaving aroma of classrooms. Ugh. Is this PTSD?

Let me reminisce about my math class career path, or as I recall it, a walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

After the alphabet began adulterating math problems, and imaginary numbers were discussed (excuse me? they’re pretending?), I banked on passing high school math with Kleenex and other extra credit opportunities.

My ACT/SAT scores didn’t include math scores, just skulls and cross bones in the shape of a sad face.

Luckily, I still attended college and began basic math.

Or so I thought.

The first day of my freshman year math class, we discussed decimals. And then the next week, we talked about decimals. And the next, and the next, and…and then I looked around and realized that most of my classmates seemed to have special needs. (I don’t mean “most,” actually.)

And that’s cool. They were way nice. Except, it was going to take me three semesters to work my way up to entry level Math 1010.

Lo and behold, I had a neon green flyer on my windshield one day with bold print: DO YOU HATE MATH?


Because my dad pitied me for being such an idiot, he was willing to sponsor my enrollment in “,” which was an intense, six week independent study program that guaranteed (or your money back) your passing Math 1010 and transferred the credit to your school.

I took the class with ten other Kleenex-clinging people, and was taught what the squiggles on graphing calculators mean. The day of my final, I had a cold, but popped a DayQuil, plus one more to be safe, and then realized I’d opened the wrong end of the two-in-one box.

I’d taken two NyQuil.

I somehow earned the highest grade I’ve had on a math test since fifth grade (which wasn’t that high) (87%), passed Math 1010, dropped my remedial math class, and got a free shirt that said, “EASY” on the front.

Annnd that’s why I pay an accountant to do my taxes. Cue hair flip.

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  1. Hahahahaha! Love it, as always. You’ve got something up on me, I don’t even prepare my taxes for an accountant… that is left to my hubby

  2. I remember the shirt and the day you found the green flyer on fifi. I forgot about the NyQuil though, that’s hilarious and inspiring!

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