Because I married and divorced an Aries man, and then, in a fit divine madness, went on to date another Aries man for close to two years, I feel pretty equipped to understand the nature of the Ram—his audacious and often chaotic proclivities, the ways in which an Aries gleefully wreaks havoc on their world and its occupants.
Aries plays a singular game and the name of that game is “I win.” The rules are inconsequential—pliable, and meant to be refashioned in order to ensure victory. Earlier this week as I prepared to place a new roll of toiler paper onto the dispenser, I took pause: would Aries take the time to remove the spring coiled holder and replace the roll in its true and proper place? Surely not. Something analogous to a cosmic directive took hold of me in that moment and whispered “don’t do it.” Something mischievous that I was compelled to obey.
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