Accountants In Love

Spring '16

Dear Cassandra,

I’m sorry to come to your window so late. I needed to see you. Listen: we’ve gotta get out of this town. There’s nothing here for us. We’ve got such big dreams and aspirations, and there’s no room for them here. You’re so talented, Cassandra, and I am, too. The world’s just waiting for us. So, what do you say? Let’s run away together and become accountants.

There’ll be no more parents, no more rules—except generally accepted accounting principles, of course. We can finally be free of this town, full of losers who never file on time and who don’t even itemize deductions.  We’ll drive and drive and drive, off into the sunset, a new town every day, until we find somewhere to open up a practice. Then it’ll be that town forever.

We’ll live every day like it’s our last day to file, April 15th.

We can even move to the city, if that’s what you want, so you can follow your dream of being on Broadway, working with actors and directors to minimize their tax burdens. It’ll be tough for the first few years, our income barely scraping above six figures, but we’ll get by as long as we have each other deducted in a joint return.

Oh, Cassandra. I’ve accounted for so many things, but never falling in love.

My interest in you compounds daily. You’ve leveraged my heart, and all I want in my accounts receivable is you. I want to audit your body late into the night, balancing you like a budget on top of me. I want to be the IRS and you, an American taxpayer, so I can screw you, real hard.

I’ve given you my heart, Cassandra, and like any good CPA, I want to see a return on investment. You’re my only asset, so can I be your liability?]

What I’m trying to say is, will you marry me? I only ask for tax purposes.