Today I went to pay the taxes on my meager townhome shack; a yearly trip I always dread. I loaded up my cute little dog in my old Toyota, put him on his car cushion, and checked twice for my checkbook. Anytime I have to forfeit big money for something I don't want, I get a bit perturbed; today was no different. Especially since, for some unknown reason, my taxes are higher but my property value has remained rather flat. The weather is lovely: temperatures in the high 60's, sunshine, and no wind whatsoever. My drive up to the county seat was pleasant enough.
The assessor's office was full of people trying to pay up before the Texas Tax Posse rides in February. No one was in a very cheerful mood. I could hear complaining from all corners of the room, while patient female voices sympathetically explained facts and figures from the opposite side of the old wooden counter. After some delay, it was finally my turn. Feeling a little sick of paying out and trying to live on practically nothing, my mood was just as sour as my fellow property owners.
The woman who took my check was funny, kind, and friendly. Her hair was a bright blondish red, and her suit matched her cheerful mood. We bantered back and forth while she checked out my statement; we wheedled away the time discussing Joel Osteen, our neighbors, style and the beautiful weather. I strolled out of the tax office braless, wearing an old leather vest, a big hole in my Levi's, swinging this giant gold purse my cousin bought me, in old studded platform shoes; and I was happy. I had just been treated like a millionairre by a beautiful lady on a sunny southern morning. That's what I love about Texas: people that matter are as normal as hell; the ones that don't count (but think they do) are running around miserable with their nose in the air.
More Later....and I love you.