SIX WEEKS?

Allow me to dust off an old nugget here and say that the IRS is fucked.

Oh, I know, the story has been told. But not by me. So here I am to share with you why I now know this to be true.

Bubba and I, in all our paranoid anxiety-ridden wisdom, dragged our butts to the accountant way back in February to get our scary-ass taxes done. In an effort to rip the band-aid right off and face the numbers together without the added fright of doing so on the eve of April 15th.

So, we handed over our lives in paper form, waited *sweating* for our numbers to come back, cried quietly when they did, but then were actually able to rejoice a little bit because we were getting a refund.

A wha?

Oh yeah people, by some force of magic (aka the Alternative Fuel Tax credit) we were actually going to be getting A REFUND.

I know, I had to look the word up myself. It has been a very long time since I've done anything other than weep into my sleeve and write checks so big that I had to squoosh all the words in at the end of the line.

But there it was. In scary IRS black and white: "Refund Amount" instead of "Amount Owed".

Huh. That *does* happen to people.

Yeah, much like winning the Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes *happens* to people when they answer the door in their skivvies with a nude whore wandering listlessly in the darkened foyer.

It *seems* like a good thing, but inevitably something goes awry and you end up having to make some excruciating phone calls and/or post bail.

Much as things have transpired here. Minus the bail part.

The short version is that we haven't gotten our refund yet and I'm ticked.

The long version is that we haven't gotten our refund yet and I'm ticked because it was allegedly mailed on March 30th and, for some reason, never arrived intact in our mailbox. The reason this is the long version is because of the phone call I had to place with the IRS to find out where in THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD our friggen check was. I was inevitably placed on perma-hold just to be told (after 25 Muzak-soaked minutes) that they couldn't track it down for me and I'd have to fill out a form and wait SIX WEEKS for someone to get back to me.

SIX WEEKS.

Six weeks to find out whether the check was forged and cashed by some thief (who I hope has already been hit by a bus) meaning that I will then have to file a whole bunch more paperwork, swear that my signature is my signature and that I am who I am and Bubba is who Bubba is and all that jazz before they'll send me another one. It is likely that this, too, will take six weeks or more.

Best case scenario, the check was actually *lost* and remains uncashed to this day and they'll just cut another one.

The likelihood of this happening is akin to the money just falling from the sky, right now, into my lap.

*waiting*waiting*waiting*

Yep, nothing.

So, stay tuned for the SIX WEEK update, when I will likely be singing the praises of the bank teller who cashed our check even though it was signed in red crayon by Mickey Mouse himself.