The High Priestess

It's a brand-new hour, and thanks to the magic of blogging, I can now tell you about my life as a single-white-female tarot reader. Take that, video-store clerks and sex workers. Actually, being a tarot reader isn't that different from being a sex worker. People still pay you an hourly rate to dress a certain way and tell them lies. As far as costuming goes, I have opted for "Mildly Mystic." This involves a lot of flowing rayon in reds, purples and blacks, but a noticeable lack of skull-themed jewelry. In fact, the only jewelry I wear is a silver rabbit charm on a long chain. When people ask about it, I either tell them: a) it's because I was born in the Chinese year of the rabbit, b) it's because my spirit guide is a wild hare, or c) my mother's nickname for me is "Bunny." The truth is, every successful Tarot reader I've met has had a signature piece of jewelry, and when I set about cold-bloodedly looking for one, this rabbit caught my eye. Not only was it cheap, but it lacked any unhandy spiritual connotations. Mostly, it's a fabulous little sculpture - you can almost see the ears twitch. But try explaining the concept of "art" to someone who wants to know if her boyfriend is sleeping around or if it's the right time to put her ailing dog down. She doesn't care, and who can blame her? Mainly, the rabbit thing makes people feel cozy and doesn't scare the churchy types away.