Stupid Tax Overpaid

My mom always wanted me to be an accountant. She thought I was good with numbers. Oh, how wrong that would have been. In so so many many ways. Today I have paid my 'stupid tax' once again. I lent a nephew some money to tide him over until payday. BUT, sadly I misread his bank account detail and paid the money into some stranger's account. Within hours I realised what I had done and did the run around with his bank and our bank, to no avail. The money was gone. Finally, I spoke to a woman at our bank to see if they would intervene. Apparently not unless we paid a hefty fee with no guarantee of getting any of it back. The supercilious woman said, "When I pay bills online I check the number three times over." Are you saying I am stupid? Because frankly I already know that without you having to rub it in. Last year Barry paid his 'stupid tax' when he paid, in full, for a non-refundable hotel room that we didn't use. He loves over planning for anything we do. Holidays are a daily process of looking at things to do, how many steps from road to the beach, what does the TripAdvisor say and a million myriad minuscule details that are analysed a hundred times. This process takes months. I mean, we are off to Noumea and New Caledonia in August and already Barry has clocked up serious online research time into everything and anything. I like to think we are intelligent human beings that have somehow managed to reach our great ages with a semblance of financial security but I think most of us have paid 'stupid tax' or as someone said it should be named "school fees for the school of life." This week just happened to be the week that my school fees were due and had to be paid whether I liked it or not.

Yesterday I went to an editing workshop. No, I have no desire to become an editor. I have trouble keeping my mind focussed on books I actually enjoy. Just imagine having to read books that I dislike? Or find boring? And seriously I have never met a colon or semi-colon that hasn't confused the heck out of me. But along I went in the hopes of coming away enlightened. And I was, enlightened that is. Two hours of fun with words. What is not to like? She, Stephanie Christie, gave us each a worksheet with titles like Capitals and Apostrophes with big spaces for us to fill in our notes. When do you put a capital on the word MOM? and where to put the apostrophe when writing "chairs back"? I thoroughly enjoyed the time along with a dozen other budding authors. But what I did find surprising was how many of the folks had no idea where to put capitals or apostrophes. My grasp of grammar is sadly lacking. I was staring out the window on the days our long-suffering school teacher had talked about how to construct a sentence. Was I daydreaming about a boy? Perhaps David or Colin or even Errol? Who knows? Even with my depleted knowledge of grammar, I was streaks ahead of some of the others. There is nothing like feeling superior to give you a swollen head. But then I came home and found my 'stupid tax' needed to be paid and I came back to earth with a bump. A very unpleasant bump.

Barry offered to mow a lady's lawn. I was very upset with him because you never know what you are getting into with something like that. But no, he went ahead and offered. And yes, the lawn was a huge paddock filled with grass as high as an Elephant's eye. I shrugged and said, "Go to it mate. I warned you and you wouldn't listen, so now you pay the price." And mow he did until the lawnmower started smoking and made strange noises. End of day one and only a small section of the paddock was mown. The engine of the mower needed a bit of TLC to get it going again and then off he went. Again. And again the mower was not up to the task. Seriously that lawn needed a chainsaw. There is one thing about my husband you might not know, and that is he never gives up. But at the end of day two, he was ready to admit defeat. And that takes a lot for him to admit.

Feeling slightly guilty at being beaten by grass, Barry once again tended to the mower engine and then went and mowed our neighbour's lawn. Yup, not our lawn but the three-story house next door that has a fit and healthy occupant. He had just started mowing when Craig comes out and says, "What do you think you are doing?" Barry says, "I am being a pixie." (or in other words, 'I am trying to do a service for a random person without them finding out about it.') Craig's was surprised, to say the least, but the two of them laughed about it and we thought that would be the end of it. Yes, Barry did finish mowing Craig's lawn even though he was home. But no the bromance was not over, today I was sitting doing some painting and Barry was doing indexing online ..... when I hear a lawnmower in our front yard. And yes, it was Craig returning the pixie favour.

So this week has been swings and roundabouts. Stupid tax paid, lawnmower needing repair, But on the other hand, I did enjoy the editing workshop and Craig did mow our kerb. Our cupboards are filled with enough chocolate to choke an elephant (not the same elephant's eye that has paddock grass growing under it) but because we are hosting the Easter bunny's hoard. The conundrum we have is that Easter Friday is also April Fool's day. I have bought some bouncy balls that look like real eggs for the grandkids and am thinking of covering grapes with silver paper but what is an appropriate Easter/April Fools activity? Jamming a toy bunny under the hood of the car and telling the kids that we have sadly had an accident involving their hero? No, maybe not. But if you have some good ideas, I am here all week licking my stupid tax wounds and feeling sorry for myself.