Sometimes I think astrology was invented just to talk about Scorpio. Sure, we can stroll through the zodiac, chatting about… Geminis who need more than one girlfriend or Pisces with sensitive feet or Leos who light up the room when they enter, but… it all pales in comparison doesn’t it? To Scorpio? I’m having fun here; no sign is better than any other. And yet. The Scorpio mystique looms large, like an enormous…
I don’t kiss and tell. But sometimes you go to sleep with an idea and you wake up with… Now what was it that I was going to write about Scorpio this morning? Something about sex? Truth is the Scorpios that I’ve known, thinking of the men here, have been more saints than sinners. The kind of dudes (and this is a famous Scorpio quality) who can wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait and wait for “the right one,” long after anyone else would give in.
And the women? Well, I don’t feeeeel like talking about my mother this morning, penetrating green-eyed Scorpio that she was, beloved for her seemingly passive, serious exterior. She really loved plants. Taurus Moon. (I think. No birthtime.)
This weekend I’m doing a reading for a Scorpio woman. She’s a bit older than me, born in the late 1930s, Uranus in Taurus. Venus in Scorpio and a 7th House Sun and a big bright and shiny Grand Cross. Serious woman with a *very* exciting love life.
But enough about my life. Do you have a Scorpio story to share? Weekend plans?
Note to self: it’s Friday!
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