Open doors, hidden illnesses and tax-time panic

Dear Rachel,

I live alone, and so I have become accustomed to leaving the bathroom door open. I didn’t fully realize this was my way … until I had company. Some people laugh these things off and they fade away. My company was not people like this. There really is no coming back, and this matters because we’re related. How can I either address this or make it go away?

– Doors Wide Shut

Dear Viewing Party,

You can sure put images in other people’s heads. But you can’t take them back out again. You just have to ride this one out, I’m afraid. But I see some bright spots: You will never, ever have to host them again. But don’t feel any shame. We all do what you were doing in there. (Unless you’re a wonderful little freak. In which case, good on you.)

– Airing it out, Rachel 

Dear Rachel,

I have never used an accountant, and now it’s biting me in the butt. (Let’s just say there are some discrepancies in my taxes.) I know an accountant would keep me in line, save me time and help me avoid penalties. But I can’t really afford one, but can’t really afford not to. What’s your advice?

– I’m Accounting on You

Dear Delinquent,

I live my life in the financial margins: I do just enough to show that I’m playing by the rules, while also making  so little that my margin for error is limited to single-digits. I’m seriously not the person to ask for this sort of advice. Can’t you find a wise older person? Wait – am I an older person now? Dang, I’m sure getting there, one tax extension at a time.

– Book-kept, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

My dad was in the hospital recently. He’s fine, it turns out – just a nasty bout of pneumonia that he and his wife decided not to tell anyone about. On the one hand, no big deal. On the other, shouldn’t they have let me know, as the nearest offspring? I’m not saying I needed to rush to his bedside, but isn’t this the sort of detail families should share?

– In the Dark

Dear Looped Out,

Dads are notorious for not sharing info. They’re great at expounding on the flathead vs. Phillips screwdriver, but they’re absolute garbage at relaying critical information. It’s awful you didn’t know how sick your father was. On the other hand, you didn’t have to walk in on him peeing or anything, which is apparently not a sight all families bounce back from.

– Bed rested, Rachel