Evil Personified

Rosemary B. Smith. Tax collector.

Evil.

You are EVIL!

Yes, it's that time of year again. Here in the lovely state of PA, it's time to write out your checks to your "friendly" tax collector for school taxes. You DID read that correctly, we write the check to her. So the $$ gets to sit in her bank account until she writes her one big check in November. Isn't living here grand?

Thanks to the Tax Relief Act, we at least get to divide our bill (over 6k) into 3 equal installments. Ha, ha........no interest for you!

I'm always, ALWAYS in a bad mood when I wake up on the day the tax payment is due. Always. Compound that with a grouchy 7-month-old who fought her morning nap, a whiny 4-year-old who dropped a Hess truck on the marble fireplace and woke up previously-mentioned younger child after only 30 minutes of FINALLY sleeping, AND a woman in Germany who decided that the purchase of a baby carrier should involve the same due diligence of eliminating the national debt, and you have one pissy me.

I should be beaming from ear-to-ear, because Sadie has been sleeping TWELVE HOURS through the night since Friday night. This rested, jovial feeling in the morning has been sorely missed for WAY too long! I should be frolicking in the warm summer breeze at such a momentous achievement. But nooooooo, I have to drive over to the township building and write a check to dear, DEAR Mrs. Rosemary B. Smith.

Adulthood at its finest.

At least I was able to grab a fistful of her delectable tootsie rolls in the basket on her desk. I figure she owes me.