We had a date. Not me and the sinister, brooding guy with an axe to grind, but me and his pimply younger brother -- the one in corduroy with braces and BO. In his case, I neither sought nor desired romance. Adrift in life’s bleaker moments, one might be seduced by the older brother, but no one ever threatens to tax oneself.
The IRS has an image problem, no question about that. You’d think anything so dangerous and powerful would carry an air of bad-boy sexiness. Then we might not mind the process so much, might even look forward to it, in a perverse way. But when the taxman commeth, he's not wearing a wife beater. Though Ingmar Bergman often featured the talented older brother, you'll see no film where blondes run through the fjords chased by an auditor.
In the Certainty family, only hunky death inspires poetry.
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