Ah, spring—the time of year known for its unbounded desire: desire for beauty, desire for romance, and desire for the IRS to insert their schedule B firmly into their line 43a.  Yep.  Tax time.  And unless you are clever enough to file for your automatic extension, you have just spent the last several weeks collecting receipts, scouring instructions, removing your hair in large clumps, and asking yourself age-old, soul-searching questions like, “If a tax man and a politician were both drowning and I could only save one, would I go get some coffee or check Facebook?”

Personally, I don’t mind this time of year so much because it reminds me that I am solidly entrenched in the middle class in that I am in the upper half of the population that actually pays taxes yet not so rich that I have to feel guilty about avoiding them entirely.  Yea for me. Continue reading →