Ahhh, tax season.

It’s the time of year when people start to madly grope their way to the back of closets in search of receipts, papers from workplaces and a dog-eared, highlighted, underlined copies of Taxes for Dummies. And face it, you are a dummy. Most people are when it comes to their taxes. Did you know that the number one reason people receive a delayed tax return is because they’ve forgotten to sign their papers or have written down their Social Insurance Numbers incorrectly. Seriously.

The worst part is the advertisements hawking easy do-it-yourself tax packages that show a happy couple on the front, her holding a calculator and him with a pen. Installing a program into your computer may solve simple problems, like organization, but when it comes down to it, no one – NO ONE – understands taxes. Even accountants feel their collars get a little tight at this time of year. And it has nothing to do with the volume of clients they serve; it’s more to do with them trying to hide their own copies of Taxes for Dummies without clients seeing them.

Growing up, my dad did the taxes. He refused to take the road most traveled and stop in at the local H & R Block, which led to the quietest weekend ever in our house. That was the one weekend a year when we literally had to tip toe though the kitchen to avoid disturbing dear old Dad, whose hand did not leave his forehead for two days straight. My brother and I had a normal childhood relationship (read: we hated each other) but for that fateful spring weekend, we were like best friends in a silent movie. It was also the only weekend we were allowed to eat in front of the TV. There was no other option; the kitchen was splayed with papers and receipts. For us, eating in the living room was like magic. It symbolized hell for my mother who kept a dust-buster in the living room as if it were a piece of furniture to prevent any crumbs from trying to trick her into letting them stay a while on the brown shag.

It wasn’t for a few years when a file cabinet was purchased and the weekend o’silence ceased. Suddenly, every day was back to its regular zoo-like atmosphere and my dad didn’t spend a week looking like the victim of a forehead slapping. The filing cabinet reduced the papers normally stuffed between the flour and sugar canisters and created space in what I later learned was a china cabinet; up until then, it was the paper cabinet.

Turns out china looks nicer when properly displayed and taxes are easier to file when everything is neatly organized into a file cabinet. There you have it: the gist of Taxes for Dummies. I just saved you twenty dollars and a lifetime of headaches.