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Arcadia Weekly Mar 01, 2010
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Tax Time Blues (or) The Rats Ate My Cadillac
By Dorothy Denne
(I have decided to rerun a column I did in April, 1999. While working on my income taxes yesterday, I was reminded of it.)
I paid our income tax last week. I was feeling a little blue. If the IRS said I we owed so much, how come we didn’t have more left?
I was trying to see the bright side. I was trying to convince myself things were good. I said, “Self, be thankful you owe something. It means you earned something.”
I have a roof over my head. You can tell by looking at me, I’m not hungry. I’m able to get warm in winter and cool in summer.
I have a new car, small, middle-of-the-line but it looks classy and I like it.
Life is pretty good. Still, I had to pay the IRS for that goodness. So, I have a right to feel sorry for me.
Another woman I know appears to have everything. Her home is gorgeous. She has a cleaning crew to keep it spotless. Her lawn is a perennial showcase, thanks to the hired gardeners.
The hired maintenance company keeps the pool clean and clear. She just swims or has catered parties around it.
The exercise room is well equipped. She has a personal trainer. And, treat of all treats, she has a masseuse who gives her regular massages.
Her wardrobe looks like something straight out of the top fashion magazines. Her hairdresser keeps her dyed, dried, curled and coiffed at least twice a week.
Her tax man came to her house. He figured her taxes. She owed the IRS. She said she can’t understand. If she owes that much, how come she doesn’t have more left? She was feeling a little blue.
I have to admit, I had a little trouble feeling sorry for her. Then she told me a story that I consider to be about the ultimate.
This same woman believes in trading her car every other year, just because it is two years old. That is how she’s always done it. Last time, she bought a new Cadillac. Then shortly thereafter she decided to take a trip around the world. Her mechanic came out to the house and removed the battery from her new car.
She was gone a year. She had a house sitter but not a car driver. It sat in the garage while she was gone. When she came home, the mechanic returned to replace the battery. He lifted the hood.
Inside that beautiful garage attached to that luxurious home, common rats had gnawed all the wiring of her elegant Cadillac.
I still have a little trouble feeling sorry for her, but I’m not feeling so blue any more. Meaning has returned to my life.
I’m going to spend what I have left to print a bumper sticker. I’ll put it on my classy little car. It will read “The Rats Ate My Cadillac.”
Who will know the difference?
(I didn’t have to get the sticker printed. My Heart-son and wife got it for me. It is now 2010 and I’m still tooling around town in that same classy little car. It is still wearing that same sticker.)
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