Tax Day is April 15, 2026 – or as I call it, Wednesday. The one date on the calendar that unites Americans more than Thanksgiving, the Super Bowl, or discovering that your favorite fast-food chain now charges extra for dipping sauce. It’s the annual reminder that Benjamin Franklin was only half right: in this life, you get death and taxes, but at least death doesn’t come with a 1040 form and a side of audit anxiety.
Have you ever endured an IRS audit? It will make your next colonoscopy prep seem like a dream vacation. I received one of those when I was married to my crazy second wife. It took weeks to prepare the requested documents, but they accepted all my documentation. Hers? Not so much. We had to cut a check, and not long after our inevitable divorce, I learned she had an affair with our accountant. I didn’t care. I just never wanted to go through another one.
Fear. It’s how the IRS gets every dime they say you owe. That’s how they got Al Capone! He went to jail for tax evasion, not murder.
Let’s be honest, taxes are the universe’s way of saying, “Hey, you did okay this year—here, let me take a chunk of it and spend it on things you’ll never see.” We spend January through March in blissful denial, pretending our W-2 is just a fancy receipt. Then April rolls in like that friend who shows up unannounced, raids your fridge, and leaves you with the bill. Suddenly, you’re knee-deep in receipts from 14 months ago, wondering if that $12.47 coffee run from July 2024 counts as a “business expense” because you answered one work email while waiting in line. (Spoiler: it doesn’t. The IRS knows you were just doom-scrolling cute French Bulldog videos.)
The real comedy starts with the software. TurboTax greets you like an overly enthusiastic ex: “Welcome back!
We’ve missed you! Let’s relive every financial mistake you’ve made since 2021!” You click through screens faster than a gambler at a slot machine, praying for that magical “refund” screen. Instead, you get the gut-punch message: “You owe $1,247.” Your brain immediately launches the classic defense mechanisms: Denial: “This can’t be right. I must have entered my income wrong. Let me just… add a zero by accident.”
Bargaining: “Okay, universe, if I donate $50 to charity right now, can we call it even? No? How about $500? Still no? Fine, I’ll just sell my kidney on eBay.”
Anger: Staring at the screen, whispering, “Why do billionaires pay less than I do? I make $62,000 and owe more than a small country’s GDP!”
Then there’s the deductions game—our national pastime of creative fiction. People claim everything: home office (that corner of the couch where the Wi-Fi reaches), mileage (those three trips to the fridge), even “entertainment” (because watching Netflix while folding laundry is basically research for mental health). The IRS reads these like a bad stand-up routine: “So you’re telling me your emotional support goldfish is a business expense? Fascinating. Audit scheduled for Tuesday.” Accountants, bless their caffeine-addled souls, become superheroes this time of year. They morph from mild-mannered number crunchers into caffeinated wizards who can spot a deductible lunch receipt from 50 paces. But even they crack. You can tell tax season is peaking when your CPA starts responding to emails with just emojis.
They’re basically running on Red Bull, spite, and the faint hope that extensions exist for a reason. And don’t get me started on extensions. Filing for one feels like cheating on a test—you get six more months, but deep down you know you’re just delaying the inevitable heartbreak. It’s like saying, “I’ll deal with my feelings later.” Spoiler: later is never better. You just end up in October, panicking in flip-flops while everyone else is carving pumpkins. The best part? After you hit “submit” and the confirmation email arrives, there’s a brief, euphoric moment where you feel free. Taxes are done! Life can resume! You celebrate with takeout, maybe a beer, and vow never to procrastinate again. Then you remember next year’s taxes are already accruing interest in the background, like a stalker in a trench coat.
So here’s to Tax Day 2026: may your refund be fat, your audit risk low, and your coffee strong enough to survive the math. Because in the end, taxes aren’t just about money—they’re about reminding us that no matter how adult we pretend to be, we’re all just winging it.
One Schedule C at a time.
Greg Budell has lived in Montgomery for 20 years. A 50+ year veteran of radio, TV and writing, Greg hosts the Newstalk 93.1FM Morning Show with Rich Thomas and Jay Scott, 6-9 AM Monday – Friday. He returns weekday afternoons from 3-6 PM for Happy Hour with Pamela Dubuque and a variety of sidekicks. His favorite topic is life! Greg can be reached at gregbudell@aol.com.