Dang

So I filed my taxes. For the second time in 5 years I have a refund coming from the state. The down side of this is: when I don't get to send in a check for the usually $3 I owe is that once again, one individual in the State Revenue department is not subjected to opening an envelope covered in stamps that says

LESBIAN $$$

all over it.

It may be small, petty, insignificant. But I can't help but imagine it's received by some state drone with polyester pants who is a feather-haired chick life passed by in 1983. Just about the last time there was a Foreigner concert at Market Square Arena.

Join me in what I imagine goes on in the bowels of the State Revenue refund division every time I send my refund in: Feathers has a marriage to some good-for-nothing. A guy that spends all their money on NASCAR collectibles and having his mullet trimmed and his bitchin' Dodge RAM pickup Rhino-lined and subsequently detailed every week. He buys a case of Pabst everyday, and not to be ironic. She is horrified that it says, shall I whisper so as not to offend the other drones? "Lesbian" all over it. She holds it out at arm's length, expecting a nest of cockroaches to spill out. She holds it between her index finger and thumb, barely daring to look. She tries desperately to open it with the finger nails on her other hand. She tries for 3 seconds and gets up. She walks to the cube down the row, and gives it to the new girl, Shanita.

"Shanita, hon," she says,"hey, I am just swamped over here. Would you mind getting a few of these refunds for me?"

Shanita smiles and takes it. She herself is a mother of two, her husband over in Iraq. She's new. The ink on her accounting degree from IUPUI won't be laid until next December. She has to take what she can get before she can get a promotion. Inside she slumps a little, wondering what new bullsh*t this White Devil is up to.

As soon as she sees the LESBIAN $$$ stamped all over, she knows right away what the problem is. Shanita thinks to herself, "Girl, whoever you are, we all got a hard row to hoe."

Oh well. There's always next year.