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Usually, I am not a stress eater. At least, I have never considered myself to be one, until today. After almost four hours, five Thin Mints, three heaping scoops of peanut butter with M&M’s mushed in, (because chocolate tastes that much better with peanut butter) I have just finished my taxes. Throw in a lot of sighing, a little hair pulling, and some cursing, and that was my whole afternoon.
Doing my taxes is akin to learning a foreign language with no dictionary to help me translate. It leaves me feeling depleted and a wee bit incompetent, if not flat out stupid. I’ve said this before, but I mean it this time, next year, I’m hiring an accountant, if for no other reason than to protect my waistline.