HOW I WASTED MY TAX REFUND IN 48 HOURS WITHOUT REMEMBERING HOW
HOW I WASTED MY TAX REFUND IN 48 HOURS WITHOUT REMEMBERING HOW
It started like any normal Friday morning. I woke up to the glorious notification that my tax refund had hit my bank account. You know the type of notification that makes you feel like a financial genius, even though last year I spent three hours crying over a $7 overdraft fee. This year, it was different. I had $1,200 staring at me like a stack of Monopoly money, and I was determined to transform it into something unforgettable.
. I had no plan. None. My financial literacy was somewhere between “I know what a dollar looks like” and “credit score is a mysterious term for adults.” Yet, the moment that digital green appeared, my brain instantly upgraded to expert-level money mismanagement. The first decision I made was monumental: online shopping.
Naturally, the first stop was electronics. I don’t need electronics, but apparently, my brain disagreed. Within 15 minutes, I owned a mechanical keyboard that promised to improve my typing speed by 1,200 words per minute. How it worked, I had no clue, but it looked futuristic. My laptop’s USB port immediately filed a complaint.
Next, I discovered a sale on “luxury coffee accessories.” I do not drink coffee. I do not know how to make coffee. I once set a microwave on fire trying to warm water for instant coffee. But somehow, I convinced myself that owning a $200 espresso machine would instantly upgrade my social status to “financially responsible and sophisticated.”
Halfway through the morning, I received a text from a friend: “Are you investing that refund?” Investing? The word sounded alien, like an exotic fruit or a new crypto token. “Yes,” I typed back confidently. I opened Robinhood and stared at stocks like they were abstract art. I bought shares of a company solely because their logo matched my favorite color. Financial advisors would weep.
Lunch was a blur. I went out to eat because, of course, celebrating a tax refund requires eating like a minor royal. I ordered an appetizer, main course, dessert, and somehow a second appetizer. When the waiter asked about my tip, I handed over a $50 bill, ignoring the fact that my bank balance was decreasing faster than my attention span.
By 2 PM, I convinced myself that I was an entrepreneurial genius. I purchased an online course promising to teach “how to make passive income fast using social media and affiliate marketing.” The course was $299. I did not complete the course. I did not even open it. I stared at the PDF icon for two hours, then took a nap. Productivity is subjective.
I stumbled upon another “investment opportunity” online: digital art NFTs. I have no idea what NFTs are. All I know is that they cost money and sound fancy. I bought three. One of them is a pixelated potato in a hat. I have not checked if it gained value. If someone asks, I’ll confidently say it’s “part of my diversified portfolio.”
Dinner arrived. I ordered a meal I could barely pronounce. The chef apparently had a vendetta against humanity. My taste buds filed a formal complaint, but my refund was now essentially dinner insurance. I also bought a bottle of wine because I read somewhere that pairing alcohol with regret improves mental elasticity.
By 8 PM, my refund was officially half gone. I opened PayPal and transferred money to friends in amounts that were psychologically satisfying but financially nonsensical. “Here, buy a pizza,” I typed. One friend bought a gaming headset. Another bought a $9.99 scented candle. My refund was now funding questionable life choices for people I barely know.
Then, I decided that the refund needed a “legacy investment.” I bought a beanbag shaped like a giant donut. Yes, a donut. I reasoned that one day, when historians write about my financial genius, they will mention the $120 donut-shaped beanbag as a pivotal moment in my wealth strategy.
I woke up the next morning with the eerie feeling that something was wrong. My bank app loaded slowly, then crashed. I stared at the screen in panic. “No, it’s fine,” I told myself. “Just a temporary technical issue.” Technical issues are like gym memberships—they last forever if ignored.
I checked my receipts. Slowly, horrifyingly, it dawned on me: my $1,200 refund had disappeared faster than free samples at Costco. Half on electronics, a quarter on food, a tenth on questionable investments, and the rest… who knows? Memory was hazy, probably due to wine, excitement, and a sprinkle of poor life choices.
I decided to create a spreadsheet to track my spending. But halfway through, I realized I couldn’t remember 60% of my purchases. The spreadsheet read like a comedy script: “Mechanical keyboard – check. Espresso machine – check. Pixel potato NFT – check. Therapist appointment for financial trauma – pending.”
By noon, I was officially broke, yet oddly optimistic. The beauty of this experience was its pure entertainment value. Friends laughed when I recounted the story. Banks did not laugh. Tax advisors were horrified. But I discovered something profound: money can be fun if spent irresponsibly and without any recollection.
The irony? The IRS had refunded me money I never really needed, only for me to invest it in fleeting happiness. I now understand the true value of a tax refund: it’s not financial security. It’s a 48-hour ticket to temporary euphoria, caffeinated regret, and NFT potatoes.
Moral of the story: tax refunds are not invitations to financial planning. They are tests of self-control. And I failed spectacularly.
😂 Don’t Miss Out On The Madness!
I drop brand-new funny, wild, and brain-sparking stories every day at exactly 6 AM — yes, your early-morning dose of comedy! From “Naija wahala” to global comedy gist, I deliver laughter hotter than Lagos sun ☀️ Subscribe now or risk missing your daily dose of “hilarious wisdom”! 😎🔥
🚀 Join the laughter squad — your inbox will thank you later! 💌 #DavidDWriter | Daily 6 AM Comedy Post 😁
Comments
Post a Comment