I've known all the years I've been aware of a calendar. I was born on Easter Sunday, the day before my mother's mumble-mumbleth birthday. And, yet, even though I was born on the Sabbath Day (and there aren't too many Christian Sabbaths to rank higher), I can't necessarily lay claim to being, as the verse goes, "fair and wise and good and gay."
Okay, I'm fair-skinned. And I try to be fair in my judgments, but often fall more than a tad short.
As to wise... let's just say I'm wise enough to know I don't know enough to be truly wise, unless you're talkin' Moe Howard wise.
Good. Let me quote Mae West when somebody commented on a string of pearls she wore, as the other woman said, "Goodness! How did you get those pearls?", West's response was, "Goodness has nothing to do with them."
And let's not get into gay. I gots gay cousins. There be carefree kinfolk out there somewhere. But I'm straight, and, like all reasonable, well-trained bipolars, generally miserable and sarcastic. La. De. Da.
That's not to say I don't agree with the poetic horoscope as a tool for predicting what your babies will be. I believe any system which decides your personality and your future based upon the day or hour of your birth has its place in today's society:
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