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I don't recall my exact age when I started checking my horoscope, but I'm sure it correlates with my reading of the newspaper, a routine that started when I was about eight. (I had been drinking coffee every morning long before that, because apparently, I was a tiny, grumpy preschool-sized writer woman.) Fascinated by the fortune-telling aspect of horoscopes, I remember trying to plan my high school days according to what a Virgo like me could expect from the universe.
From that point forward, my sign became a defining characteristic of who I was -- it explained my irritating pickiness and an intense ability to function well alone, even though I claimed to dislike being alone. Much like being left-handed, being a Virgo was about being special in some capacity (though I blame my family for that, because your family is really the only human entity that can bloat a childhood ego by telling you how "unique" you are, all of the time.)
See also:
- Breeality Bites: Does this rental car make me look grown up?
- Michelle Tea on Sister Spit, tit-ins and how to deal with Mercury retrograde
- Rob Brezney's Free Will Astrology
