tonight the IRS made me a bad girlfriend

My adoring and fantastic boyfriend just called to tell me he was leaving his sister's art opening in Williamsburg. (I have been cozy at my apartment in Westchester all night attempting to work, watching Lost and squeezing about a million key limes to get a half of cup of lime juice for a pie I will be making tomorrow.) I - thinking this would be the goodnight conversation - was all ready to snuggle up in bed and say goodnight to my dear when he says the following,

Dan: "I have a crazy idea."
Me: "Oh yeah, what's that?"
Dan: "I was thinking I'd hope on the L and catch a train from Grand Central up to see you."
Me: (in complete shock and feeling a slight panic set in) "Are you serious?"
Dan: "Yup."
Me: "Are you sure?"
Dan: "Yup."
Me: "You're sure you want to do this?"
Dan: "Yes."
Me: (now thinking simultaneously, 'Omigod I have been squeezing limes all night thinking I'd have all day tomorrow to do my taxes' and 'Omigod I can't say no, of course I want to see him,' and 'Omigod the IRS is going to come after me because if he comes over I'm literally NOT doing my taxes,' and 'Omigod he is the best boyfriend ever how can I tell him no?!') "Ummm...OK."
Dan: "Do you want me to?"
Me: "Well of course I want you to."

Long pause here. Me thinking all of those things again and again and again.

Me: "I have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow."
Dan: "Oh, you do? Like what?"
Me: "My taxes. I have to do them tomorrow - that's it. It's tomorrow or nothing."
Dan: "Ok, so I won't come."
Me: (proceeding to have crying-fest breakdown over how awful I feel) "But I want you to come!"

You can probably predict how the rest of this went, but the highlights are Dan saying that he wanted to surprise me and had even PACKED his things to come up here, and me bawling hysterically about how I ruined it and he'll never do anything like this again for me, to which he lovingly responded that of course he would and it's not my fault and to not feel bad and every other kind thing he could say that further made me melt.

If my boyfriend decides I'm a heartless bitch and never tries to surprise me with a trip from Brooklyn or Queens all the way up to Westchester - sans car, no less - I am BLAMING THE IRS!