Multi-Taxing

“Why all the questions? I haven’t had to come up with this many answers since I broke curfew.”

“No problem. Unless you’re as creative with the government as you were with me.”

Son One is filling out tax forms with the same hearty appreciation he musters for cleaning the litter box. He was finding the two jobs alarmingly similar. I’m in the kitchen weaving bits and pieces of leftovers into something that resembles supper.

He frowned at the paper. “Tips? I don’t get tips. I found a penny on the floor once and the boss claimed it was overtime pay and made me mop the floor.”

“That reminds me. It’s your turn to do the laundry. I get half the change you find, but you can have 100% of the dog treats. No questions asked.”

“This line says Subsistence Allowance. Is that the money I lose in the school vending machines trying to get a Twinkie to hold me til lunch?”

“No. The government isn’t interested in the state of your state of being until you graduate.”

“Just as well. Whatever you’re making in there would probably count against us. Are you mixing things? You know I don’t like my food to touch.”

“Sometimes you have to have to be creative, remember?”

“What about Contributions to the College Investment Program?”

“Put zero.”

“But I paid enough in college tuition to make everyone in the county smarter than a fifth grader.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Railroad retirement?”

“Six seasons in front of Thomas the Tank Engine? No.”

“HazMat? I can sign up for HazMat?”

“You don’t get to make hazardous materials," I said, layering asparagus with eggs and cheese.”

“Why not? I’m a natural. I’m exposed to hazardous materials every day.”

“In what form?”

He sniffed the air and made the yukky face.

“Casseroles.”