Merry Christmas, Love The IRS

About a couple months ago Boyfriend had suggested that I should get on some sort of medication. I figured that he was either a) being funny or b) would enjoy a more sedated Meghan so he could possibly have some quiet time, because lets face it, there is no such thing as quiet time when Meghan's around. I hate to say this, and I never will again, but Boyfriend has never been so right.

When I came home from work on Friday, I fished around in my mailbox and found an unusually large envelope from my friends at the IRS. Being my optimistic self (insert gut busting laughter here) I figured it was a bigger refund because I obviously deserve more money being that I work so hard (bust a gut once more). A late Christmas Card from Uncle Sam himself, how could I be so lucky?

But this wasn't your ordinary, everyday Christmas Card. My usual Christmas Cards have a funny cartoon on the front and a large sum of cash inside. Apparently Uncle Sam had got things confused because he was asking ME for money. And people, I'm not talking about $5-$10, he seriously wants everything but my blood and my first born child (OK not really, but its damn near close).

What happened next completely proves Boyfriend's point. I must warn you, there is a psychotic scene to follow where I act like a fat five year old that got its ginormous lollipop taken away.

OK, you've been warned.

I totally freaked. I called my mom and yelled at her. Next, I called Boyfriend and yelled at him, because apparently in Meghan Land its everyone elses fault. I threw things, I yelled at the cats, I yelled at the dog, I screamed obsenities at nothing at all, I threw a couple more things, and then cried. What got into me? I'm not too sure of that. A periodic possesion by the devil. Perhaps. A sudden explosion of the Terrets I've been trying to hide so well? Not so much. PMS? Definetely the culprit (remember in Meghan Land, its never Meghan's fault).

But I'm not psycho, just hormonal....I swear.

After I calmed down, I called everyone and apologized, profusely. Mom just laughed at me, which I'm not surprised at, and Boyfriend made the valiant (and heroic) effort to actually come to my house and calm me down. Thankfully by the time he arrived I had just reached the crying stage. He coddled me like the small child I was acting like and of course, laughed at me as well, which I couldn't blame him for. OK so maybe he wasn't right. I highly doubt I need to be on prescription meds, but a high dose of Midol wouldn't hurt. But then again, crazy people don't really know that they're crazy either, do they?


*UPDATE*

I just recently talked to a tax attorney and I don't have to pay the money. Take THAT Uncle Sam! Next year, you can keep your lousy Christmas Cards to yourself! Ha!