Whew. After a productive meeting with our accountant this evening, we learned we are filing jointly and only on the hook for something less than $500 total (which is pretty remarkable given the amount of untaxed freelance income we generated last year. Don’t worry, though, Uncle Sam is definitely taking his pound of flesh.) The irony of meeting to discuss one’s taxes on this auspicious day was not lost un us, but luckily she made it painless and easy. (Email me if you’re looking for a fantastic CPA in the Baltimore area&mdashI’ve been with Laura for going on ten years now, and if she can make sense of my convoluted financial situation, she should be the new head of the World Bank.)
Flush with success (and the knowledge that the money we’d saved in the event of major tax catastrophe could be put to better, and more pressing uses), we walked down the street and treated ourselves to a mediocre dinner at an Irish pub in Bel Air that I won’t recommend.
Now I’m writing this, laying on our plastic-wrapped mattress in the middle of the living room, listening to the roar of the water falling from our roof to the ground below, and wondering if all the pretty flowers that have been peeking out this last week will get pounded to smithereens in the next 24 hours. The mattress is 2 for 3 so far-last night left us both in knots for some reason, so we made some adjustments to the frame and we’re giving it another night. Cross your fingers.