Chances are that you woke to the Ides of March this morning without giving a thought to the fate that awaited poor Julius Caesar before this day ended in 44 BC. Why would you? That was a long time ago and you hardly knew him. But think on these things: If the Ides of March is already upon us (and it is), then the Ides of April can’t be far off, and friends, that particular upcoming Ides is of profound personal importance to you and to me. Be prepared!
If Caesar had been prepared, he might not have had to resign himself to his fate and gone quietly to his death when friend Brutus raised his dagger against him. A tragic fate for Caesar, indeed, but there’s still time for us to forearm ourselves and fight on, should the doorbell ring and this century’s Brutus surrogate — i.e., the IRS auditor — be standing there with his toothy smile telling you, “I’m from the government and I’m here to help.”
All of which brings me to my own personal income tax testimonial: A nagging vibration at the back of my mind gained strength as the days of 2014 passed, until one day last week I couldn’t ignore it a minute longer. It’s not like I hadn’t recognized the source of those familiar vibrations, since they’ve always set in shortly after the first of the year. Nor is it like I thought they’d go away if I ignored them, and I venture to suggest it’s not like you haven’t been feeling them too.
These particular nagging vibrations are a symptom indicative of an acute case of Tax Prep Avoidance, which can be lethal if not treated, and there’s only one way to do that: Apply liberal doses of Action. Who wouldn’t rather pursue little pleasures than set to work on the taxes that she knows are going to make her cranky? And who in her right mind would voluntarily lock herself in a room with a bunch of file cabinets full of significant papers, and stay there until her annual mission is complete — i.e., gather up records, receipts, 1099s, canceled checks, credit card records, etc., that testify to her gains and losses throughout the preceding year?
That would be me, friends, and the whole kit and kaboodle is in the hands of my CPA as I speak. I might have heard a choir of angels sing out “Hallelujah!” as I reverently placed the folder in his hands, but it could have been those nagging vibrations settling down in the back of my mind.
MARJORIE ANDERSON is an Edmond resident.