Our monthly statement just arrived from the bank where we have our checking account. It is a new, more detailed version. Thank god I have a PHD from MIT or there would be no earthly chance that I could decipher their cryptic gibberish. The monthly task of balancing the checking account has morphed from a fifteen minute exercise in pure mathematical fun to a weekend long hysteria-inducing ritual that makes me pine to have a tooth or two pulled.
I gather the tools I need: a computer, an abacus, ten #2 pencils, a gallon of vodka, a sliderule, three jumbo erasers, a deck of tarot cards, a calculator, a yard stick and a gram of methamphetamines.
Okay, after the 16 hour ordeal, the checking account may not balance, in the most technical sense of the term, but frankly, it will be close enough.
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