FIFO, Shmifo!

There are all sorts of interesting tax complications when you close out a business that maintains an inventory. I have just spent the last hour and a half digging up old tax returns and entering data on a shiny new spreadsheet. I was good about keeping up with my inventory. However, I did not keep track of when it came in and when it was sold. I started an Access inventory program and eventually abandoned it.

Why is this important? Because I am down to what I most devoutly hope is the last worksheet for my 2007 tax return, and I am accounting for the difference between starting inventory, ending inventory, and retail sales.

I can now tell you just how long it took me to clear out all the skincare and makeup that I purchased in 2004, not that you care. And the year before that, and the years after it as well, but 2004 was the year that I meticulously plowed all my sales, and every penny I could spare, into building up an inventory. And in 2005, the second full year that I was in business, I made a modest profit.

I did this not by trolling the ward list as so many people do. There’s been a disclaimer at the bottom of each ward list, as far back as I can remember, that it is to be used for church purposes only. I.E., not as a prospect list for the latest and greatest MLM scheme to come down the pike. I made a promise to myself when I became an independent beauty consultant that I was not going to advertise at church. This because we were Amway’ed and A.L. Williams’ed and I don’t remember what-all else during the years I was married to the children’s father. So I had a very discreet window sticker on the back of my car, and that was that. I didn’t take orders at church. I only rarely made a delivery between meetings if there was no other way to get product to them, and I had them mail me a check later. Most of my clientele was in my office and in my office building.

And it was fun. I never dreamed that I could be an effective salesperson, and I was. I had a lot of fun, and I learned a lot about setting goals and following through, and I made some good memories. I originally got into it because the children’s father lost his job, and we had no child support. My goal was to provide enough each month to make up the difference. While I never really reached that goal, it seemed that there was always a big-enough sale whenever I had a cash-flow surprise. And after three years, I looked at my cumulative raises at my day job and realized that they were covering a good chunk of what I was supposed to be getting from child support, and it was time to close up shop.

They like me at work. They value my efforts, they treat me well, and my office manager [who spent part of her adult years as a single parent] has kept the raises coming. I now make over half again as much as I did when I started with the corporation, nine years ago. So, no more independent beauty consultant for me. But as they say, the job’s not finished until the paperwork is done.

And I am just about there. Which is good, because I have until midnight Tuesday night to finish up my return. Uncle Sugar will be getting a very small check from me; I wish it were the other way around, but I am so thankful not to qualify for the Earned Income Credit that I almost don’t mind.

I was groggy almost all day at work yesterday but managed to avoid slugging down a cherry Coke. Decided that I would take in a movie. Got creative about driving to the theatre, which was in a small shopping center that I’d been to, but not the theatre per se. One of my “wonder where this goes?” moods, which took me all over one of the oldest and loveliest neighborhoods in East Dallas. I pulled into the parking lot about three minutes after the trailer should have been starting, with no indication of precisely where in the complex the theatre was located. So I drove up the expressway to a bookstore and spent a couple of hours reading the Harlot's new book [which I will buy next payday; it’s a gem] and scoring two hardcover volumes of Robert B. Parker. One Sunny Randall, one Jesse Stone, $6.98 each. And eating a cheese panini, with occasional breaks for knitting.

I will not be getting in touch with my inner Stevie Nicks tomorrow. We had crazy storms all over the Metroplex on Wednesday night, and the roof blew off the hotel where the event was scheduled to take place. Seriously. It was all over the frontage road to the southbound freeway before rush hour, yesterday morning. There was an email waiting for me from the Good Brother, saying it would be postponed, and there would probably be just lunch tomorrow, venue to be announced. Since I don’t know if I'll be able to get to the junk shop at lunch today, I might mosey over tomorrow and make some new friends and measure some furniture.

But dinner tonight with Brother Sushi is definitely on, so I had better get myself spiffied up for work and head on down the road.

I grafted on the fourth ball for [Almost] Cozy at the bookstore last night, and I worked four rounds on the toe of the second Anastasia when I first woke up this morning. Because I know you came here for the knitting content...