What Do the Stars Know?
I’m a compulsive reader. Not only do I always tote a book and magazine in my commodious Kenneth Cole handbag when I go out, but I will unfailingly read whatever appears in front of my face. I’m talking anything here, people.
Tracts from religious proselytizers and handouts from campaign workers on the street corner. Flyers in supermarkets and department stores. Newspaper inserts hawking products I don’t want or use. Catalogues from plumbing and electrical supply companies. The weather report for cities I won’t be anywhere near that day. Obituaries for people I don’t know, articles about subjects I don’t care about and you better bet I read all that fine print that nobody else does on contracts.
I have a particular fondness for those patient information sheets you get with prescription drugs. Do you realize the “death” is a side effect for everything from eyedrops to dietary supplements? It’s all the more ironic to find that dire little warning on the meds that you’re ostensibly taking to keep you alive longer, like blood pressure and cholesterol pills. And I can tell you exactly what’s in that expensive monthly flea treatment that you put on your cat or dog that could end them up in the pet cemetery.
Anyway, speaking of animals, I came across an article today telling people what kind of dog they should get, based on their astrological sign. I don’t believe in horoscopes and all that stuff, but you know I read it nonetheless and learned that, as a Virgoan, my fur-ever canine friend would be a (ta-da!) Weimaraner.
The article insisted this breed was the perfect match for the discriminating, aesthetic, meticulous and uber-responsible Virgoan because of its strong-willed personality, elegantly sleek appearance, need for a firm but gentle hand and boundless energy requiring punctual walks.
Oh yes, and Weimaraners absolutely require a highly organized owner to provide a structured life in order to curb the destructive behaviors for which the breed is infamous.
What?!?!?!
Do I need to become a behavioral therapist for an animal who looks naked and unfinished because it has no fur, will challenge my authority and ignore my directions even more than my own kids did, drag me away from the intellectual pursuits at which we non-athletic, highly cerebral Virgoans excel and turn this fastidious perfectionist into a sweaty mess as I try to wear the inexhaustible monster out by running it all over the neighborhood several times a day?
And on top of that, as if to add insult to injury, if I don’t shadow the damn beast 24/7, it will turn my Italian leather shoes and the legs on my Great-Great-Grandmother’s Queen Anne table into chewy toys!
Okay, so there’s the biggest drawback of being a compulsive reader — you risk wasting time by perusing printed material that’s silly and useless. But the good thing is that voracious and opportunistic reading teaches you very early in life what so many people seem to forget these days — namely, you can’t believe everything you read.
–phoebe kate