Happy Tax Day.

Today is tax day, and our blog is about growing up. I’ve apparently yet to take that step. I have never filed taxes before. I’ve had jobs, but what usually happens is my parents “take care of it.” That is, honestly, what they say. I ask “are my taxes done?” and they reply “We took care of it.” It has worked well for me. Until a few days ago, I said “Dad, are my taxes done?” He replied “I don’t know. Did you finish them?” At that particular moment, I flipped my shit. Why did my dad think that he could just up and stop taking care of me without any prior notice?

First on my list of things to do was to partake in the biggest temper tantrum of all time. I hadn’t received a 1099 from Lexus Corporate yet. My W-2 was lost in a sea of papers on my desk. My 8 page credit card bill was sitting next to my computer with one too many zeros on the remittance statement. Does one get a tax deduction for a personal attempt to stimulate the economy? I would appreciate one. A good temper tantrum is always worth the expended energy once it is all said and done. I felt better.

Next, was a meeting with my accountant. He didn’t like me. I’ll leave it at that.

I returned to Lexus and told my dad about the meeting and casually said “Well, I took a huge hit in the stock market so that should be a big deduction.” He replied “Kara, you don’t deduct losses until you actually incur the loss.” (He only calls me Kara if he is completely aggravated with me. Otherwise it’s KB or Karie.) Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that? I’ve had parents that said things like “I took care of it” my whole life. Good thing I have an accountant!

He continued, “I feel like I have completely failed you when it comes to teaching you about money. You just don’t get it. You have no idea how much anything costs. There is no one I love more than you, but I am growing tired of paying for your life. I pity your future husband.”

My response was, “I’m so worth it.”

He didn’t blink. “You are just high enough maintenance to be a huge pain in the ass. That’s why I like Chris. Once you start dating the pretty, high maintenance people, you realize what a pain in the ass they are.”

I didn’t know whether to be immensely amused by the fact that my dad called his girlfriend ugly and low maintenance (which we all know stands for fat and boring), or to protest him calling me a pain in the ass.

In an attempt to rebuild a strained relationship with my father, I walked into his office and asked why he thinks I am so bad with money. His response was “I don’t. I was kidding. Go get me some pickles at the grocery.” I took a 5 dollar bill out of his wallet. He stopped me and told me to take a twenty. I said “Why? A jar of pickles is $3.79.” I’ll have you all know, that was the exact price of the pickles!

If his point is I have no idea what any costs, I will take this moment to prove him wrong:
Pickles: $3.79
A trip to DLM for milk: $50 (no matter how little I buy at DLM, I always spend $50.)
Manicure: $30
Tory Burch flats: $195
Grande nonfat latte: $3.65
WSJ: $1.50
Plane ticket to NYC: $303.43

The problem isn’t that I don’t know how much anything costs, I do. I promise. The problem is that it all adds up so quickly.

I’ll try harder next month.