H&R Block can kiss my

Yeah. Me being the Queen of Procrastination, we did not go off to get our taxes done until 6pm last night.

BAD IDEA.

Firstly, My normally sweet little Ma somehow transformed into a raging shrieking demon child in the tiny crowded waiting area of the office. Lurch was in charge of her while we wait and I sat back in a chair and nursed Moo while my hubby chased Ma around in circles and took her to the bathroom (After she ever-so-loudly announced "I PEE PEE POO POO!", making nearby fellow customers snicker and my face turn bright red.)

When they returned a few minutes of magical calm went by as she occupied herself with a kids book, but the peace was short lived when she suddenly sprang up, ran to the middle of the (PACKED) waiting room, screamed "LOOKIE ME I SHAKIE MY BUTT!", lifted her dress and wagged her tush at the entire room.

A tush... without underwear.

I almost shrieked "OH MY GOD PUT YOUR DRESS DOWN WHERE'S YOUR UNDERWEAR." and then gave Lurch a look that I hope he read as "If you don't stop and cover our child I'm castrating you the second we get home." and his face was equally pale and he shrugged with wide eyes full of panic before making a dive for our half nekkid daughter, knocking his char over in the process and attracting the attention of more bystanders.

If you could only imagine the looks some of the older women gave me, and all I could do was sheepishly grin and send Moo telepathic warnings about how well he is to behaved when he's three and what will happen to him if he isn't.

Thankfully, we were quickly called to a nearby computer by a sweet blonde women who apparently missed the flashing. We sat down and Lurch started babbling while wrestling a screaming Ma and couldn't even remember his social security number, so I bent over and in a low voice said "You. Go with that child back to the waiting area so I can get this done and for the Love of God go home and have a glass of wine." Blonde Tax lady giggled and said "I understand, I have three kids at home."

Yeah, probably three NORMAL children.

Things went smoothly until it was time to claim our First Time Homebuyers Tax Credit, and all of a sudden things hit a brick wall.

"Oh sorry, you don't qualify if you're related to the seller."

Now, before arriving there I did a good three hours of research, so even though I had to swallow a bit of panic I politely countered "No no, I did the research, we bought it from my husbands uncle, not father or grandfather. We qualify."

Tax Lady scrunched up her face and showed me the tax code "See? It says so right here, lineal family fathers, grandfathers, ect."

I counter again "Exactly, uncles, cousins, siblings, ect are NOT lineal. Lineal is a direct line. Lineal. LINE."

Tax lady stared at me blankly and then called over to a preparer playing Solitaire next to her and asked about our dilemma. She was given a blank stare and a shrug in return. Now this is where Liz started to get a little annoyed "You do know what lineal is, right? It's a line." and I made a straight up and down motion with my hands "son, father, grandpa.. now uncles and aunts go like this "and like the crazy loon I am I branched my waving out horizontally, knocking over her pencil holder. I was met with a further blank stare and she turned and typed in a word I did not expect to see from a so-called proffessional:

GOOGLE.COM

She started with the tax code but I cut her off and said "TYPE LINEAL".
"But I'm looking for the irs-"
"PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE TYPE LINEAL."
"She started to steam but did as I requested and up popped Websters Dictionary." "HIT THAT" I demanded as a familiar siren like evil shrieking started back up from the waiting area.

"DAAAD! I WANT TOY! I HUNGWY! I WANT MOMMY! MOOOOOOMMY HELP HELP MOMMY HELP" And inaudible banging and crashing ensued as I started to rub my eyes so hard my makeup streaked to the sides of my face.

Then I finally heard what I needed to hear "Oh look, lineal, direct descendants, what do you know you were right."

I KNOW LADY, I GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL.

We try to continue but the credit form confused the poor doll more, so I end up switching seats and filling it out myself in no time. We wrap it up, I feverishly anticipate her hitting the final "File" button so I can know my sweet sweet return will be in my bank account in a matter of weeks, and it hits.

200 dollars in charges, they won't file until I pay them.

I stare for a second. How much? Bu wha? I think for a minute and tell her I forgot my photo ID, she tells me she can't take the (way too much of a) charge out of the return, I have to pay with check or cash.

I slowly say "Okay, let me help my husband get the kids in the car and I'll come back with a check." I pack up my frazzled obnoxious yelling screaming fuming family and we go to the car. I'm pretty sure I heard applause as we left, but it could be my humilated mind playing tricks on me.

I climb in and Lurch goes "Aren't you going to pay them so they file it?"

Pay them? Pay... THEM? I did all the work and I have to give them 200 dollars to stare at me blankly for an hour an argue over 11th Grade English Class vocabulary??

H to the ELL NO. I'm doing it myself, now that I know how to. Taxact.com, here I come.