Hey, can we deduct Peeps?

DEAR IRS,

Greetings from the edge of bankruptcy.

This is just a little note to warn you that our tax returns are running a little late this year. What happened, I’m pretty sure, is that we got busy with some personal issues. I had to see a doctor in March -- nothing serious, though the prospect of such visits freaks me out for weeks in advance. If I’m going to be touched by an aloof stranger with cold hands, I’d just as soon it be my wife, thank you very much.

Speaking of my wife, she’s been busy too, buying a new sofa in February that was delivered last week. You guessed it: custom made. I buy my suits off the rack and my cars through a Turkish syndicate based in Burbank. But somehow we end up paying full price for a sofa that was hand-stitched by angels.

My wife didn’t even consult me about the style or the shape. If she had, I would’ve suggested “shaped like a humongous catcher’s glove.” How cool would that be in the middle of the living room, just as baseball season begins? Seriously, I’m like a male Martha Stewart.

So as I was saying, we’ve been pretty busy, lots of yard work and chores, Easter egg hunts and Dodger games. I personally filled in some of the bare spots in the front lawn, smothering the seed with new soil so it could incubate in the spring sun. Last Saturday, the beagle ate a Brillo pad, bubbles everywhere.

Nonetheless, everyone is doing well here, considering we’ve been eating purple Peeps for three straight days. The toddler burps every time you hug him. I blame it on the new harmonica he got for Easter, which I think he swallowed.

He wanders the house performing the opening notes of “If I Were a Rich Man.” Not surprising. Historically, the men in our family have spent a lot of time sitting idly, wondering how the rich live.

I wouldn’t have to work hard. Ya-dee-da-dee-da-dee-ya-da-da-da-dee-dee-dee-da-dum...

Speaking of rich, I just ran across an excellent investment opportunity. As you know, I have been helping the Nigerians with their finances for years. Once you help one Nigerian, it seems that Nigerians everywhere get your e-mail address, and then you are deluged with some excellent ways to make a little extra money.

Anyway, it now appears that Nigeria’s former minister of tourism needs my assistance moving funds from his country to a bank here in the United States. I was flattered. Some people don’t trust Nigerian requests for financial assistance, but I could tell from the fractured grammar that this guy was the real deal.

All I had to do, as an act of good faith, was send him a $10,000 deposit and a Dodgers T-shirt. I am now awaiting his personal check, drawn on the Nigerian National Bank, for a sum of $12 million, which I will hold for him till he is able to tie up loose ends in his country and escape here to the United States, where he and I will split the $12 million.

As I told the former minister, this could not have come at a better time, because our MasterCard is a little over its limit and the car ignition keeps jamming.

Anyway, do you think I have to tell my wife about this $6 million? Honestly, $6 million sounds like a lot of money, but in my wife’s hands, I’m pretty sure it’d be gone by Friday. Lovely woman, a great mother and a willing and creative lover. But she’s a leaky bucket when it comes to cash. Any advice in this area would be greatly appreciated.

Till then, good luck this tax season. I think I speak on behalf of everyone in the nation when I say what an excellent service the IRS provides, taking money from hard-working Americans and putting it where it belongs, into the hands of politicians. At dinner parties, I often note that you seem to be a cross between Robin Hood and Edward the Confessor.

Have you noticed that each year, I throw in a generous tip? I hope this makes up for all the cut corners and bogus deductions you must see from those other guys. I mean, my buddy Bill alone -- oh, never mind. That’s his business if he wants to claim his golf clubs as dependents.

Me, I’d never let something like that slip by.

Love always,

Taxpayer No. 347239493.4

Chris Erskine can be reached at chris.erskine@latimes.com.