Geminis Are Skeptics

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It's no fun being a skeptic.

I don't get the comfort of reading a horoscope and knowing that today I will be a great day for avoiding sharp pointy objects, angry authority figures, and cheese fondue.

I run horrible risks when I step out of my house with my left foot, doom my mother to a broken back when I step on a sidewalk crack, and lose years off my life when I fail to hold my breath while passing a cemetery.

I foolhardily consider the investment potential of that old house on the corner -- you know, the one where legend says that every May 15th, a neighborhood child vanishes into, never to be seen again except as a shadow moving past moonlit windows. It just needs a new paint job and have the asbestos removed. And a new foundation. And somewhere along the way we'll need to find the corpses and get them out of there.

But worst of all, I have to be quiet about this when around believers.

I get hostile glares and orders to go do the laundry when I make the mistake of saying to my wife watching a TV psychic, "Honey, don't you think that there are lots of people in that audience who have a grandparent with the initial J or M?"

Try convincing a retiree that dumping half of her social security check into a slot machine doesn't mean that it's all set to pay off. You'll get a walker over the head. I won't make that mistake for a ninth time. Probably.

When I make a point by reading a Scorpio the daily horoscope for a Pisces and then point out my trickery, I get casually dismissed "I was born on the cusp."

And when I ignore their superstitions and wear white socks after labor day, forget to cower in fear when seeing a black kitten, or drive the wrong way on a one-way street, everyone acts like I've committed a horrible breach of social etiquette.

Becoming a skeptic didn't come easy.

Uncle Cletus pulling a coin out of my ear seemed magical. Except he only did it when he was drunk, so his slight of hand was less than adept. Sort of having the Etch-o-Sketch opened up in front of you and seeing the magic inside is just a drunk guy who drops the penny repeatedly before finding it in the same hand he had it in. Oh, such disappointment to those of us who still believed in magic even after discovering that mommy didn't really vanish during peek-a-boo and older brothers didn't really rip our noses off and poke it out between their fingers.

No amount of cutting a potato in the light of a full moon and washing my hands in water pooled on a tree stump got rid of those warts in 8th grade. And that cute redhead still ignored me after I wrote her name on a rock and buried it under an oak tree. Maybe I misspelled her name? Or maybe that stray cat who followed me for a week had the same name.

After being told often enough that pain is weakness or toxins or evil spirits leaving your body, eventually you realize that the pain is a sure sign that you have a compound fracture of your tibia and you need to find your way to the emergency room.

I can't help it. I'm a skeptic. It doesn't help that I'm a scientist. Or a stage magician. Or that I grew up among hustlers and conmen.

But mostly I'm a skeptic because I'm a Gemini. Us Geminis are all skeptics.

Did I make you laugh? Want more? Here are a few more of my humor columns on Vocal

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Why Clickbait is Wonderful

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What, Me Volunteer?

I'm an Urban Legend

Life Under the Glide Path

I Miss My Hair

I'm a Kennedy Cousin

Super-Secret Diet Secrets

My Dogs Love me. Honest!

Yucky Foods!

Trapped in K-Mart

Geminis are Skeptics

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