I hate to admit it, but mother really does know best, particularly when she tells you that stealing is a crime in the eyes of the law and G-d. And once you start, you just can’t stop. First it’s toilet paper from cheesy Spanish-themed restaurants, then it’s diet coke bottles from the Oxford dining hall, and suddenly you are snatching your friend’s boyfriend’s scarf and holding it for ransom. And why do you need ransom money? To fund your caffeine addiction, which is the only means you have to churn out two 3000 word essays a week on failed bureaucratic policies in countries that until October of this year you had never heard of. It’s a low, but it’s also the biggest adrenaline rush you get all day.
Well, maybe the second biggest adrenaline rush of the day. The first came in a memory that I subconsciously buried until I noticed a sign for a job posting–“Like astrology? Believe in the magic of the stars? Care to spread said magic? Call the number below and become a professional horoscope writer.” On Friday night, when all the JSOC (British version of Hillel) students were forced to face a room of well-nourished Jews and do their election speech schpiel, Ali and I stood there in all our American glory and claimed we should be JSOC ball presidents. Why? Because so many of my friends are married and hence I have bridal planning experience. (False.) And well, Ali is my friend so by virtue of osmosis, she will learn all there is to learn about bridal/ball planning. One of the boys, deciding to play “Mess-with-the-Americans,” asked what three items we would take with us to a deserted island. Before I could even begin to enunciate grande, skinny vanilla latte, Ali shouted, “Yaffa would bring her astrology books” because apparently I ask everyone their sign. I’ve been told this is a dangerous idea as it leads people to believe you are trying to pick them up with a cheesy one liner.
Regardless, I have become the resident astrologist. Tell me your sign and I’ll tell you your life’s story. I didn’t realize just how much I discussed it until one of the visiting student– a non-Jew and female– posted on her facebook wall: “I am a Scorpio– and according to Yaffa Fred “that explains it all.” Did I seriously say that? I should get one of those Call-me-Cleo psychic hotlines and start earning some money from this side hobby.
In the meantime, Anna, my favorite Brit, has introduced me to the best British comedy circa 1995: The Vicar of Dibley, a show centered around a chunky, but always feisty female priestess who solves all the village’s problems. Oh, and the show was filmed in Oxfordshire!
I’M A VIRGO.
GO.