This year's tax season, for me anyway, was a last-minute hair-pulling festival with the added horror of writing a check with far too many numbers on it.

(Enjoy, bankers. I was only going to blow it on tacky plebian stuff like food and heat anyway.)

Next year is going to be even worse because I'll have to keep track of deductions for the first time. I'm already filling a shoebox with receipts for things I know I need to make a living (laptop, printer, business cards) and things my friends assure me are work expenses (meals with people who might know people who know people, vacations I've mentioned in a column).

But I'm not going to cheat on my taxes, partly because I don't want to end up appointed to a Cabinet position but mostly because I am a law-abiding citizen. Or at least I thought I was, until I realized how hard that can be. There are a lot of laws you and I may be inadvertently breaking. (I'm not counting speed limits. I'm advertently breaking those.)

For example, did you realize an ordinance still on the books in Pittsburgh bans housewives from sweeping dirt under rugs? Despite not technically being a housewife, I cringe at the years of crime in my past. The only thing that saves me from recidivism is wall-to-wall carpeting.

Another law I am routinely breaking is Pennsylvania's requirement that motorists driving at night on country byways stop every mile and send up a rocket to clear the road of livestock.

Where am I going to get my hands on rockets? I'd have to drive to Ohio. And I wouldn't want to get caught bringing illegal fireworks back over the state line, so I'd have to stay off the main roads and do it at night. By the time I got back to Pittsburgh, I wouldn't have any rockets left.

Nowadays, we don't need rockets because we have road projects to stop us every mile, even on major highways. Especially on major highways. And have you ever hit a horse on I-79? See? It's working!

I've never done it myself, but at least we still have the God-given right to run out of gas on the interstate in this country. You can't do that on the Autobahn in Germany. If you're whipping along ignoring your idiot light and the engine starts to cough, you mustn't coast to the shoulder and walk to the nearest gas station, because both of those acts are illegal. Instead, you should probably try to crash into a guardrail or school bus.

There are a lot of weird laws about driving. In Thailand, guys can get a ticket for driving shirtless. If you've ever gone to the Regatta, you've seen guys who should be ticketed for breathing shirtless.

I've never been tempted to drive shirtless myself; my car has a sunroof, and I would need a sunscreen with the SPF of granite. I've also never been tempted to drive with an uncaged bear in the car. This is apparently illegal in Missouri.

You could pass the time on a long sea voyage trying to imagine the unfortunate set of circumstances behind that legislation. Did someone think a seat belt was going to be sufficient? Is it also illegal somewhere to kiss an uncaged bear on the mouth?

I wouldn't be surprised, because killjoys everywhere seem very keen on the War on Kissing. It's still illegal in Hartford, Conn., to kiss your wife on Sunday. It's also still illegal there to educate your dog, but you can kiss your dog any day of the week.

A train station in England actually banned kissing. Well, not banned it completely: There was a designated kissing area. According to the Telegraph, "the signs were erected after concerns that passionate embraces were causing delays for commuters." In England?

Three weeks later, the signs were adjusted to create "Kiss Me Quick" and "Kiss Me Longer" areas. A spokesperson for Virgin Trains said of the signs, "there was always a tongue-in-cheek message." Duh. So far, they haven't designated a "Lengthy Train-Missing Snog" section, but I can't wait to see the sign.

Now that I've written about it, I could take the trip off my taxes.