This past week I balanced the books for my small, (very small), business, yesterday I drove to Indianapolis for an audition, today I'm tackling our tax forms.
what eye thynk: Yes, I know they're due on Tuesday. I always promise myself I'm going to get them done early and then suddenly it's April and...well, there's always next year.
When I'm finished filing, I'm betting that my husband and I will end up paying a higher percentage than Romney's 14.9% and probably even President Obama's 20%. *sigh*
So I've decided to attempt to get in touch with my "inner-philanthrope". This should help me to feel good knowing that by paying our full share, we are helping a millionaire out there somewhere--one who, because of our generosity, will be able to keep more of his for himself and so won't have to settle for cloth seats instead of hand-rubbed distressed leather on his new private jet. I mean, really, how could I expect him to fly to Aruba for dinner on cloth seats? It would be too demoralizing.
Aw, crap. It's not working. Screw philanthropy. I'm just pissed! And I hope that millionaire has to eat his jet, right down to the buttons on his distressed leather seats.
They (they rich) ain't got a clue...
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