Whine whine

There is one thing I loathe to look forward to in April. Don't get me wrong, April is a great month; great surprises often lurk in April. (Wink.) It's the time of year when the sun finally sticks its spindly million degree nose out and melts the remaining scattered clumps of white stuff, leaving behind black piles insulating the white stuff. (Anyone who lives in Quebec will know what I mean.) And it's that time of year when I get off my sorry butt and start my new yearly tradition of sweaty 5K training, although it's going to be kind of difficult this year with a toenail broken from kicking a clump of hardened white stuff hibernating behind the car tire a few months ago.

No, it's that one thing in April that I always whine about, and it's just around that time of year again. HINT: it's not avoidable, unless I want to get fined by the CRA.

Fortunately, Jorghnassen is also in the same boat this year, having never gone through the scalp-scarring, brain-jarring, seizure-inducing experience of filing his own taxes. So he took the easy way out and paid for Impotrapide. Even with a program for his filing, it is not that simple, as he has now been in two provinces earning incomes and getting hosed by the government more ways than usual.

In the meanwhile, I have to defer the yearly hair-pulling by another week as I have a pile of algebra corrections that are inducing another type of hair-pulling.