Quietly

The world was muffled. Dark grey clouds swept in off the ocean, and we huddled over our tax papers.

“This is appalling,” he muttered.

“What is?” My nose was deep into another pile. I was sorting it by date.

“Last year you paid $136.00 dollars for forty pills of Protonix at Longs.”

“How much is it at the new place?” I asked then sneezed.

“By the end of the year it was $40.00 for three months through the InsDrugByMail plan. Maybe that’s worth the hassle after all.”

I dug my face deeper into a pile of statements from some obscure insurance company and said nothing. I know my meds are the biggest thing in our budget.

“Tell me how to run this thing,” he almost shouted at me while pointing at the adding machine. “It won’t print!”

I could see his blood pressure rise. I understood. He was acting like a little boy having a fit, but this is the year that I am standing up for myself and not doing the taxes alone. No longer am I Mrs. People Pleasinginaction. I reached over and turned the machine on.

We sorted, assorted, poked, piled, and stapled each neatly labeled bundle.

“The truck registration?”

“Must be in the truck,” I replied.

“We will send them a copy of it.”

A long silence ensued. All you could hear was the rustle of paper work slip sliding away. Suddenly everything was all in one big pile and sitting in an envelope. Oh, it isn’t all done. We are still waiting for 1099’s from hither and yon. But this mess is less mess now. And while we wait, we will sign a power of attorney here or there also. That’s just in case we get run over by an 18 wheeler on our way to the tax man’s office.

“Were you going to wash your hair,” he asks.

“Oh yes, we are outta here shortly. Dinner with Duck for your birthday.”

“Birthday,” he said turning to me with a giant grin. “Disneyland with the G’kids in two weeks.” Now that’s birthday.