Taxes

In the past 24 hours two of my favorite people have mentioned their taxes and then like three seconds into their talk I could actually hear the headache and confusion through the phone, and they both stopped themselves saying, "I just don't even like talking about it. I could not do your job."

Which should make me feel like crying in a corner, but (because I got nine hours of sleep last night) is actually making me feel like I have a special skill, like a nurse, or a barista, or Jack Bauer. Like I can handle radioactive material with my bare hands, while freeing Somalian hostages, and baking (non-catching-on-fire) cupcakes all at the same time.

(Oh yeah, I baked a cake last weekend and set them ablaze. Electric ovens are tricky and weird. Where does the hot come from?!?! The coils just start glowing like magic, and then suddenly the cakes you put in there are rising at double time and boiling over onto said magic coils, and you're all - "But there's not even a flame! I half expected the oven wouldn't get warm at all! Like it was some Easy Bake Oven and the coils are really just tubular light bulbs, like fluorescent office lighting!")

I know it's not as amazing as saving the world in a single day (again, and again, and again - Jack Bauer how are you not so busy with all that p&%#y getting thrown at you that you don't have time to save the world? I mean chicks go crazy for guys if they even look like they're about to put on some sort of uniform, and here you are actually saving people and countries left and right! Put your phone on silent for God's sake! Relax! Let someone else save us for once!)(Except don't because I totally don't trust anyone but you.), but it doesn't send me into a cold sweat, and that's good. Or scary depending on who you're talking to.

Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go fashion a badge out of tin foil and my Bedazzler. Because the next time a client comes in I want to have the right look about me, and if a jeweled-foil-star doesn't say professional I don't know what does.