Wabbit Season! Duck Season!

So you all are getting the picture by now that I'm a girl. A woman.
A layydeeeee. I've left hints throughout this blog to let you in on
this fact. Have you noticed them? I have a cartoon version of myself
right over there in the sidebar that signifies girliness, not only in
appearance, but in the slightly creepy way that I like to
dress my cartoon-self in little outfits of varying styles and hairdos
every few weeks. And if you haven't seen the more subtle girl-signs
like those, I even sign my posts "Librarian Girl." See what I did
there? A librarian, and a girl. Cleverness is my forte, people.

I bring this up because during this time of year in Libraryland, lots
of people seem to forget that I'm a girl. They look at me and all
they can see is the face of a man. Not just any man, actually. They
see The Man. Why the confusion over my tender gender? It's simple:
tax season. I set out the tax forms in Libraryland and all of a
sudden people think I'm the I.R. of S. in the U.S. of A. Or at the
very least, they think I am H.&R. Block. Let me tell you
something right now. I am neither H. nor R. I can't prepare your
taxes for you or give you tax advice. And if I did, you would quickly
be getting a knock on your door from the men in white coats. No,
wait, those are the loony bin guys. I don't know what kind of coats
the IRS people wear, probably tweed, but they'd be paying you a visit.
So repeat after me, Librarian Girl is not The Man. Librarian Girl is
not The Man. She's the Girl. Totally different.

And if there was ever a time that I didn't want to be The (IRS) Man,
besides always, it's during tax season. Yesterday, a woman came up to the desk in a frantic, malevolent state, and fired complicated tax questions at me faster than I could repeatedly tell her "I'm sorry, I can't help you prepare your taxes." Boy, was she mad. But this was not what was troubling me the most. What was getting under my skin was the fact that she kept calling me "sir." That's right, "sir." As in "what sorts of assets do I need to report on line 42e, SIR." Wow. I have enough trouble with being called "ma'am," and now I have to endure this lady knighting me in the middle of my shift? And she did it repeatedly, looking straight into my girlier-than-thou face. I don't know how much more of a femme someone can look than me, but to this woman I was Sir Tax-a-lot.

You know how moms with bald newborn girls really want everyone to know that they're girls so they dress them up like a doily and put that rubber-band-headband-with-a-bow-on-it around their tiny little skulls? Maybe I need to invest in some doily-wear and skull-bows. At least for tax season.

Kiss the rings, I'm out.
Librarian Girl