The Dragon Slayer

Every year, in the Spring time, a dragon emerges from its lair. Its scales are so closely fitting that no arrow or spear can find a crack. Its claws rake the boulders from the mountain side and its tail can snap grown trees in half like match sticks. Fear and terror take on palpable qualities and my knees shake as I go out to meet it. Yes, it is "tax time."

This year, the dragon seemed to have grown in size and its claws and teeth seemed much bigger than last year. That is because I changed residence locations, and bought a house. I bought the "Quick Tax" software and courageously determined to do battle. Actually, if there were any way I could weasel out of it, I would have, but this is one of those "manly" responsibilities I am supposed to be courageous about.

I proceeded to go through the steps as directed by the tax software. I had the usual 15 minute battle with the deductions section. Miss one little box and it won't take the information and I would start over. Muffled threats seemed to help subdue the dragon and it yielded, taking the information. "Ha! Take that, thou villain!"

My shouts of joy were quickly quashed as the dragon pulled out its most vicious tactic. It required me to attach the completed file to the email to electronically file the tax report. Oh, the dragon snorted fire and smoke in glee as I writhed in agony in the flames of frustration. I couldn't find the file! I tried and tried and tried again. Exhausted, I lay my head on the desk. My hands were tingling from the stress.

Jannie witnessed the battle and came to encourage me. Together we couldn't find the file, and then, beyond our understanding how or why, it appeared. We had looked in that section before and it wasn't there, but now it was visible. Like a weak spot in the scaly armor, I plunged my sword as my finger clicked on the mysterious file. It worked! The file was attached and I was able to electronically file my tax report.

I keep telling myself, "I got my taxes done," and sigh knowing the dragon won't threaten me any more this year. But that nagging thought, like the echo of a death cry in the mountains, still haunts me. The thought "it will be back next year."