I received a letter from the IRS today. Well, not a letter, more of a note, really. A brief lecture, something I could have received from my dad, regarding investments, investment advisers, and due diligence; i.e., the world is full of scams and scammers, don't be a chump.
And with the note, also like my dad, the IRS sent me a check. A very modest check -- Dad, again! Three dollars, if you must know. The only thing it lacks is spend this wisely in the memo line.
But unlike a check from my dad, I earned this one. Apparently, in my enthusiasm to celebrate the ides of April, I got all giddy and went overboard.
There's something sweet, touching, about a $3 check from the IRS, something almost personal. It conjures up an image of Gladys the bookkeeper in Sacramento, wearing butterfly glasses, a pencil stashed behind her ear and an ink smudge on her cheek, eating lunch at her desk as she scours each and every return. And the triumph she must have felt, that AHA! moment, when after running the numbers and double checking the tape, she found my error.
"If you think you got a $21 dividend from Charter, Missy," she mumbles, "then I'm the Duchess of Cambridge."
Gladys pulls out the company checkbook, and says to Paul the office boy, "Run downstairs and make sure the refund goes out in the morning mail. Something tells me our Ms Bugge could use this."
Maybe I'll just sit on the money for awhile and consider my options -- pay down the mortgage, for example, or invest in some radish seeds. Probably the latter; I like to watch my investments grow.
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