April 9, 2014
It’s tax time. I’m too scared to do my taxes. I’m sure I’ll get something wrong and my enemies in government will persecute — no, I mean prosecute — me. So I hired Bob.
Bob’s my accountant. I like Bob, but I don’t like that I have to have an accountant. I don’t want to spend time keeping records and talking to Bob about boring things I don’t understand, and I really don’t want to pay Bob. But I have to.
What a waste. Once, I calculated what I could do with the money I give Bob. I could have a fancy dinner out 200 times. I could buy a motorcycle. I could take a cruise ship all the way from New York to Venice, Italy, and back.