You know, there are a lot of people God should hate more than me. Zooey Deschanel, for example. But no. I seem to be at the top of the list.
Okay, I guess things could be worse. I could be dying, nor not have Ned. So I guess I could calm down. But still.
I went to H&R and its Blocks yesterday and found out I owe FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS in taxes. Last year I was still technically unemployed--remember I kept calling work Fake Work? I was freelancing for them, and taxes weren't being taken out, and if you think I had the luxury of setting some aside you are sniffing the glues.
So that's delightful, and puts me in a sparkling mood, because I certainly have every idea of where Ima get that money. Maybe I really should sell Avon, as one of you suggested. Or Mary Kay. I like those pink cars.
Five thousand bucks. For heaven's sake. Oh, and the appointment at H&R Block was $451. THANKS.
As soon as I got home, I went straight to bed, where I was covered in dogs and despair. After awhile, I called Ned. He had just gotten home, because he's a very worky boy. "What are you doing, sweetheart?" he asked me. He probably wondered why in the Sam Hill I was bugging him, as we usually see each other Tuesday and Thursdays, and he gets a whole Night Off From June on Wednesdays.
"I owe $5,000 in taxes," I told him.
"I'll be right there."
Ned is the best boy ever. I suggest simply everyone go online and get a Ned. It was a great investment on my part.
I tried to be a good hostess while Ned visited me in my hour of need, which by the way is apparently more like 17,000 hours annually. "Would you like a delicious Clementine?" I asked him. "Thanks, I've already had an orange today," said Ned. "How about a delicious banana?" "I've already had one of those, too."
What is he, a spider monkey? How much fruit consumption does one person need? I try to meet government standards of five fruits and vegetables a year.
We ended up going to that cool hotel where we had Thanksgiving dinner, and I watched Ned eat a flatbread because I'd already had tuna packed in wather and fat-free mayonnaise on thin bread and a Clementine (four points). I enjoyed my delicious water and watched Ned. Okay, perhaps I had a SMALL BIT of the flatbread. Shut up. I'm going to be in some debtor's prison soon. In a barrel. And I look awful in brown.
Really, it's not as bad as I thought it would be. My finely tuned mathematical skills told me I'd owe $7,000, so hey! Bright side.
Have I mentioned things could be worse, though? That I at least have a Ned? Which is no small thing. I don't know how anyone could love an impoverished, old, chubby, large-haired excuse for a person such as my own self, but I'm glad Ned is delusional enough to do just that.
Holy cats, I just totally turned this whole post into a Sonny and Cher song.
I wish they'd have been a little more awkward singing this. Wow.
Love, June. Who is a v-a-m-p. Vamp.