Every year that rolls around brings with it the uneasy foreboding of February, when the financial records for the previous year are in file folders stacked on the dining room table calling for action.

The file folders are in plain sight on one end of the table, and at every meal I can see them and hear them demanding to be dealt with.

The W-2s and receipts and records are all there, and everything is ready to go.

Everything, that is, except for me. The only thing lacking is the

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