As I opened the front door to my CPA’s office, the smell of taxes hung in the air. It’s a cross between library and funeral parlor. At least in my mind. My husband swears it doesn’t smell that way. My CPA, John, greeted me with a smile, as always bright eyed. I drudgingly followed him back to his office dreading the news of how big the check I get to write is this year. As we got settled in his office, “I know, you’d rather be getting a root canal right now,” He says with that smile in his eyes. “Yes,” I replied. “Nothing personal.” “I promise to make this…