When we were impressionable youths, our curfew wasn't so much a time we
needed to be home as a time we needed to call and negotiate the rest of
our evening. Would we be sleeping on the couch of that 20-something guy
who always hosted high school parties or crashing with a girlfriend?
Did Mom need to come pick us up from the Quick Trip parking lot? Or
would we be home in 20—no, make that 30—minutes?
Perhaps this lax upbringing is what caused us to be so bad at turning
anything in on time and what made us, well, bad Americans. For April 15
is not the day on which we file our taxes—no, it is the day that we
file an extension (or have our accountant do it for us). Yes, yes, we
know that all we're really doing is putting off the inevitable: paying
taxes on the money paid to us for those stories we turned in so very
late. Also, it turns out that this year we're missing out on free
vibrators.
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