Ex told me he’d try to help me with my back taxes. I hauled my laptop and random handfuls of receipts to a Starbucks and we tried to hash out 2013.
Though he’s good at financial stuff, Ex doesn’t have experience doing taxes for someone in weird fly-by-night freelance work. The forms were somewhat unclear about what I was supposed to do, and Ex ultimately said he didn’t feel qualified to help and I’d probably better call an accountant. Fair enough.
I wanted to tell you guys about a thing that happened before we gave up, though:
Ex had me download a potentially helpful tax guide. I was looking for a logical place to save it, and Ex pointed out my folder called Tax Forms. And I was like “…Ah- ” and he immediately went “…Oh.” Because he knew, just from that split second of hesitation, that “Tax Forms” is the decoy name I gave my porn folder.
He and I aren’t bestest friends or anything, but we have a good rapport and in some ways we know each other more than most other people know us (having been together during our formative adult years and everything). So this was way more funny to me than awkward. I was laughing so hard I could barely choke out the words “I guess I’m…not as stealthy…as I think I am…”
Ex said I might as well have named the folder BORING FILES NOTHING TO SEE HERE MOVE ALONG. And told me he hides his stash in a folder called…I forget now, something database-administery sounding.
So yeah. That happened.