A couple months ago, the Toronto Star published the following: “This horoscope column includes some suggestions that are contrary to the advice to socially distance or self-quarantine which have been urged by local health agencies. . . . That is because these horoscopes were written a few weeks ago, before these warnings were issued.”
Wait. The horoscope writer didn’t know a pandemic was coming? What kind of lame tea leaves is she using? Are her tarot cards defective?
When I was in college, I had the privilege of learning psychology with Dr. John Showalter. He gave me an excellent introduction to the subject. For icing on the cake, once a week Dr. Showalter spent five minutes at the beginning of class reading our horoscopes as a joke. Today, websites reveal what your Zodiac sign says about you. My husband, Chip, is a Scorpio. Scorpios are distrusting, jealous, and violent, passionate, and assertive. They are tough-minded and biting. Forceful.
If you know Chip, you are doubled over laughing because he has never bitten anyone. He’s not jealous. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, he once used a golf club to smack a mouse that was running around our kitchen, but he’s usually the quiet one running the numbers in the background.
I’m a Cancer. Not cancer as in a life-sucking disease caused by uncontrolled division of abnormal cells. Cancer, as in, I was born July 12, and that’s my Zodiac sign. (That’s coming up soon. Cash gifts are fine.) Cancer means crab in Latin or Greek or Vulcan, or maybe all three. The constellation is a giant crab that attacked Hercules when he was doing penance for killing his family. Hercules killed the crab with his club. It was a six iron, same as the one Chip used to stun the mouse.
Here’s what the all-knowing Allure magazine website says about me.
“Cancers are highly intuitive, and their psychic abilities manifest in tangible spaces. They pick up the energies of a room. These crabs are extremely self-protective. Much like their celestial spirit animal, Cancers are shielded by hard, external shells. At first they are cold and distant. But with time, they reveal their genuine compassion and mystical capabilities.”
This is crap from Taurus the bull (mid-April to mid-May birthdates). What’s a tangible space? How do I pick up the energies of a room? Horoscope writer, please advise me about my mystical capabilities.
So I’m cold and distant? The Myers-Briggs Personality test does say I’m an introvert because spending time alone energizes me. (I took the test in Dr. Showalter’s class.) But I’m a gregarious introvert. Just ten days ago, I was in my church sanctuary before the start of the service, and the ushers told us where to sit, all nice and socially-distanced in the pews. (We also wore masks, yay for us Presbyterians who follow the rules. Calvin is pleased.)
I had a few minutes before the service started. I spotted a friend and sashayed right up to the front pew to chat. I did stay six feet away, and my mask remained on my face. But hours later I realized maybe I wasn’t supposed to leave my assigned pew. This is my public apology for being meety-greety in church when there’s a pandemic on. Here’s the point: I’m not cold and distant, no matter what the stars tell you.
Here’s your horoscope pandemic advice for today. Don’t kiss strangers. Order plenty of toilet paper online because the lines on my palm tell me the era of finding Charmin on store shelves drew to a close March 22 when Aries the Ram was quarantined with a Ouija board in a tangible space. And if Dr. Anthony Fauci predicts a spike in the virus, take him seriously. He paid extra for quality tea leaves.