Remember the good old days when life was EZ, and tax returns involved only four things, the return, the W-2, the envelope and a stamp?

But then you get married, and the IRS penalizes you. You buy a house, the county, city and school district penalize you. And, oh yes, you live in the most taxed state in the free world.

Don't you hate April?

This week, I finally completed a tax return which contained so many forms and subforms, I included an index, Cliff's Notes, and a road map as a courtesy to the poor IRS agent who was assigned to review my paperwork.

Many taxpayers like to wait until the very last minute - this weekend - before paying their taxes, holding onto their money for as long as possible. I wait until the last minute because I wonder if I'll think of another deduction on my way to work, in the shower, or during a dream at 3 a.m.

Life between February and April 15 for taxpayers like me who think outside the Box 16 becomes a series of “Hey, what about?” moments.

Hey, what about that $20 I loaned my neighbor that he never paid back.

That's a charitable gift.

Hey, what about the doctor's bills I incurred after I threw out my back helping my friend load his furniture in a van?

That's a moving expense.

Hey, what about the band candy we bought from the seventh grader who knocked on our door?

That's a student loan deduction.

Hey, what about all the shampoo, toothpaste and razors I've bought this year?

A business expense (we wouldn't shower if we didn't have a job, right?).

I used to fill out my tax return in pencil first, in case I made a math mistake. Now I use a pencil in case I come up with another “how about” I hadn't thought of.

I also do my return in pencil, because I now see it as sort of a first draft. When I finish my draft, if I don't like the result, I try it again.

And again.

Until I'm happy.

In order to live through tax return season, you need to stop treating it as if it were a final exam, and more like an open book multiple-choice quiz.

I used to keep receipts for everything all year, a shoebox filled with potential defenses and explanations. But, after years of spending weeks fretting over a return that never gets audited, you wonder whether the receipts are a waste of time and space.

And you stop keeping every receipt. Any receipt.

Soon, you're like me, doing a lot of rounding off and estimating. You've traded the hours of adding up hundreds of receipts on a calculator, for just a moment of staring into space and taking an educated guess.

This method - in which you find yourself using words like “about” and “nearly” - goes so much faster. The only notes you keep are to help you remember the deductions you got away with, oops, the deductions you rightfully claimed from the previous year. For example, until the IRS says otherwise, you will continue claiming your dog as a dependent.

When you're finished exploiting all the possibilities, you stare at your wife with the most honest face you can borrow from your childhood, promise her that everything is legit, in order to coerce her into co-signing the tax return.

And then, after she has left the room, you scribble in the name and address of your worst enemy at the very end of the return.

Where it asks for the paid preparer.

You know. Just in case this is the year.

Editor Mikel LeFort can be reached at 253-5311 ext. 230 or e-mail mikel.lefort@lee.net