Adult responsibilities

Michelle showed up at my door this afternoon with a shoebox full of receipts and that look people get when they realize tax season is actually happening. “Please tell me you know something about this,” she said, holding up a crumpled gas station receipt from last March.

Adult responsibilities

Turns out my obsessive organization skills from nursing school actually translate to tax prep. Who knew? We spread everything across the breakfast bar and I walked her through sorting receipts by category while she calculated mileage deductions.

Two hours in and we’re still finding random receipts in Michelle’s purse.

Jake keeps walking by and shaking his head at our very serious coffee-fueled accounting session.

Three hours later and Michelle’s shoebox of chaos has become neat piles of properly categorized expenses. She owes me dinner, but honestly, there’s something weirdly satisfying about turning someone’s financial disaster into something the IRS might actually accept. Plus now I feel slightly more prepared for my own taxes next week. Slightly.