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The Little Ram

by Jess Osborne 2 months ago in humor

Mostly figuratively...

I like signs that point out restaurants at the next exit after you’ve been driving for hours looking for something other than McDonald’s. I like signs of warning, especially the ones for spicy foods. There’s nothing worse than taking a long-awaited bite of a new Chinese dish and you missed the four little red peppers next to it on the menu.

Most signs will give you some kind of information, or a warning about a hazard, which is what astrological signs tend to do. Someone hears you’re a Scorpio and they step back a little, like they can still smell that Chinese on your breath. It’s an interesting assumption of stereotypes and for those who take it with the grain of salt, or maybe just a dash of pepper, it’s a game of analysis that makes you take a step back and assess yourself, much like a biologist might in the jungle.

“Hmm, we see this Virgo out of his element today…in the midst of a philosophy lecture he wandered into. Let’s observe how he reacts. His logical nature now challenged.”

I imagine Richard Attenborough would have a field day with us just like the penguins, as we are our own strange combinations of habits, weaknesses, and supposed behaviors ruled under the stars. My stars aligned under Aries, the “formidable” Ram, in quotations because that is a generous adjective in my case.

Now before you step back for fear of some hair-trigger temper, or imagine I’m the life of the party, I’m actually quite the opposite of both. Now, the temper I’d say we can all be happy about. I don’t think anyone would want to be known as a literal Hulk in polite society. Plus, green is definitely not my color, clashes with my eyes. I am a bit lacking on life and parties though. Instead of the center of the room at the latest (socially-distanced) house party, I’m typically on the couch in my own room, probably watching The Great British Baking Show on Netflix, most likely with a glass of boxed red wine. Maybe I’ve doused the confidence I’m supposed to have with this fire sign with the wine. It’s unlikely though, as that would be a waste of perfectly good wine.

I’d say the liquid courage I gain after glass number two doesn’t quite count, so that’s another strike against me. If anything, I’m a small ram, standing on the edge of the group, laughing when I need to, but with little interest in leading anyone up or down a cliff, or through the next business project, because rams love pie charts.

If, however, we are to boldly go where no one has gone before, I will gladly let Scotty beam me down to the next mysterious planet. In reality, it’s the latest restaurant downtown, or the new cocktail bar they just built in a bank vault but adventuring I will go. Rams, even small ones like me, will take those leaps to new experiences, try new things, and maybe even order that Chinese dish again. I’ll definitely order it, but it’ll be my forgetfulness—not bravery—that leads to the same regrettable fate, eyes watering and gasping for milk.

With only a couple of weak tallies in my column, I’m a relatively sad looking Aries, my fire more of a smolder, like an extinguished campfire. Not to toot my own horn—or should I say, horns—but there is the element of creativity that I will solidly claim. Far from saying the quality is Da Vinci level, but my passion for art runs deep, and I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it. To make the paper come alive with just a pencil is the most thrilling but calming feeling I know. The black to white, every shade in between becomes a challenge to recreate the world, or a face. It’s a constant journey, because us mere mortals and little rams can never show nature in it’s true form, only a close recreation.

I’d say my sign might’ve been diluted a bit, but I certainly won’t complain. The Hulk-like temper has been tempered, the house party personality more of a middle-aged cat lady who always watches Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy (which I actually do five days a week), but the new adventuring, creative and passionate ram does burn bright. The horns may not be as weathered and worn like some, their bravery and tenacity like scars they’ve won through their careers or otherwise. Mine are there, smaller, tasteful, but still strong as I have climbed cliffs among the best of them. I may not be the biggest, or loudest, but my heart can rival most, especially after that second glass of wine.

humor
Jess Osborne
Jess Osborne
Read next: 'Chocolate Kisses'
Jess Osborne

Not a starving artist (I stay well fed), but starving to get back into writing, so here I go. *Cracks open a beer* Is this how that works? Maybe I don't want to channel Hemingway...

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