Let it be said: horoscopes are great. They are better than fortune cookies because they are less random and never come accompanied by a bill or wrapped in a stale biscuit you feel obliged to eat. They require a mental workout, too, because to truly enjoy them, you must use selective reasoning—take what sounds good and ditch the rest. Being a Scorpio, I once read that I am either totally obsessive or entirely disengaged. And so it is when I’m reading my fortune—anything to do with love or luck is duly noted, but any mention of finances or the workplace and I glaze over.

I should point out that I don’t make (or plan to make) any life decisions based on astrological predictions, but I think horoscopes are amusing to read and can be, at times, startlingly accurate. For example, this summer I had the misfortune ...