Monday, September 10, 2007

My Secret Astrological Disappointment

My husband and I have the same astrological sign (Pisces) and I find it terribly depressing. Seriously. Not because I put any stock in astrology, but because I've been in the habit for years and years of reading my horoscope (it's on the comics page in the Trib, and I've been starting my day with the Tribune comics since I was about five) to my family/roommate/whomever and informing them what exactly they have to do to conform with it.

"My horoscope says I'm fascinating today. Be fascinated."

"My horoscope says today people will be particularly nice to me. When are you starting?"

A close second is gloating over it when their horoscopes are really bad and inventing all the horrors that go with the prediction. "Ooooooh -- something goes wrong for you at work today. Maybe the flourescent fixture will fall on your head! Maybe you'll get a papercut that develops gangrene and you'll have to have the finger amputated!"

But this DOESN'T WORK because Mr. McGee and I have the same sign. So I can't be like, "My horoscope says you have to be nice to me" or "Your horoscope sucks today." For years I've been saying I'm going to assign him an arbitrary astrological sign just so we can have different ones, but that sort-of defeats the fun of the game.

So what I actually do sometimes is invent him an entirely different horoscope and tell him his says he has to obey my every command today, while mine says I'm a beacon of shining glory.

Mostly he just ignores me. But every now and then he's like, "Wait, what?"

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