The V Card

You’re sitting in class, head down, and backpack zipped. You’re cleaning the break room, watching the clock tick closer and closer to 5:00. You’re walking home after a nice lunch with a friend. Then it happens. A classmate, a coworker, a neighbor, or whoever, asks without warning, “Hey, what’s your sign?”

Star signs - a harmless topic of conversation, right? Astrology is fun! The stars are full of wonder and magic. Talking about your horoscope can be a great way to learn more about each other - how you’re similar, and how you’re different.

“What’s your sign?”

As a Virgo, I dread that question. Why? Hold my beer.

Virgo equals virgin. It’s the first thing that pops into anyone’s mind when they see or hear the word “Virgo”. So, if you’re a Virgo and not a virgin, then you’re not a real Virgo, are you? If you’re a Virgo and not a virgin, then your sexual activity is an immediate topic of conversation. Being a Virgo is like wearing a sign on your back that says, “ASK ME ABOUT MY SEX LIFE”.

None of the other eleven star signs prompt such a response, do they? Maybe it’s because I’m a Virgo that I get so irritated about the topic. You know, it’s because of this critical, observant, analytical brain that the Virgin Star Mother gave to me during my September birth all those moons ago. My zodiac sign surely has everything to do with my successes, my failures, and my relationships, right?

Forgive me for the sarcasm. I just can’t buy the idea that Virgos are more or less [insert attribute here] than Scorpios or Capricorns, for example. My mother, a Cancer, is the most loyal, faithful, kind, and patient woman on the planet, but those attributes are supposed to be for me! I have to tell you, this apple fell so far from the Virgo tree. I am impeccably impatient if you haven’t noticed.

Virgos are supposed to be logical, hardworking, artistic, humble, and several other fluffy traits that someone on the internet thought would be fun to group together under the August-September umbrella. Whatever. That’s not the part of astrology that tends to claw at my soul like feral cats. Following a horoscope site or learning about your star sign can be really fun for a lot of people, but for Virgos (and I know I’m not alone here), it can actually cause undue trauma and stress.

I’m not exaggerating. The amount of times I’ve been asked about my sign and haven’t been harassed about my sexual activity is zero. It gets old, and it gets very personal. If I wanted to talk about my sex life to random strangers, I would start a podcast and call it “The V Card” or something witty like that. I’d put a picture of some photoshopped bombshell babe on the cover with a popsicle or some kind of shiny red candy in her mouth. You’d listen to it. I know you would.

In reality, life as a Virgo usually goes something like this:

“Hey, girl, what’s your sign?” a stranger asks, unprovoked.

“I’m a Virgo,” I dryly reply.

“Oh, so are you a virgin?” the stranger inevitably follows up.

No one says, “Oh, you’re a Cancer. Do you have cancer?” No one says, “Oh, you’re a Leo. Is your name Leonardo DiCaprio?” No. Just, no.

You get the picture. It’s more invasive to be a Virgo than to be any other sign. It’s like there’s a reverse birth right when you are born a Virgo where you must live your life without any ounce of privacy regarding one of the most private acts of mankind. Interesting, right?

So, yes, I’m a Virgo. I’m a recovering perfectionist. I’m a loyal friend and a hard worker. I have a critical eye and a knack for the arts, but I know you’re still wondering.

Am I a virgin?

Wouldn’t you like to know?