Born on a Rotten Day -- Cancer

If You Love One: Cancer Male

The first thing you'll notice is his genuine, and adorable, smile. The Cancer man is sweet, chivalrous, and has a wonderfully offbeat sense of humor that can be downright loony. He is sentimental, sensual, and truly affectionate. He is a traditionalist who respects the proprieties of courtship, believes in family and forever, and he's absolutely the best snugglebunny in the Universe.

You may see an ideal mate, but what you get is an ideal stalker. A male Crab's idea of devotion is bonding at the hip, so unless you are prepared to become his Siamese twin, run in the opposite direction as fast as possible. In bed he is tender, but so passive that you'll soon tire of always being on top.

His devotion is legendary. However, don't say "I do" until you understand that this extends to every friend and relative he's ever had, especially Mother. It's not above him to wait until the honeymoon to tell you she's coming to live with you as soon as you return.

He's subjective. His favorite game is Guess How I'm Feeling? You will be expected to read his mind, sense his moods, and mend his fragile ego, all without benefit of knowing what has upset him. Don't worry. Everything upsets him. Forget to buy toothpaste, and he'll decide you don't love him anymore. Say you want a night out with the girls and he'll expect divorce papers in the morning.

Conversely, he will be so blind to your feelings that you will soon find yourself thinking of ways to escape. Try talking rationally and he will become morose and overemotional. He's so preoccupied with his own sensibilities, and his basic character is so convoluted, that he simply can't believe you don't feel exactly as he does on every issue. He's as moody as the female Crab, and punishes any perceived slight by retreating into his metaphorical shell to pout.

Consider Cancer Ross Perot's run for the presidency. Perot prided himself on playing daddy, boss, and teacher to us less enlightened folks. When faced with the inevitable opposition, he took it as a personal affront; paced up his charts, graphs, and pointer; and went home. In typical Cancer fashion, after a suitable period of withdrawal (e.g., punishing those who would not see his light), he decided he might jump back in the political ring if asked. I suppose he's still waiting.

The male Crab is as paranoid about security as the Bull but, in a financial crisis, will expect you to do all the nasty stuff like making a budget or working tow jobs to ensure the family's future. He'll be too ill with a case of stressed-induced acne to show his face in public.

He will stop at nothing to get you to agree with his point of view, even if it's only on the best flavor of ice cream. Anything less is total rejection. First, he will explain in excruciating detail why pecan is better than black walnut. Next he'll try his rote lost-boy look to win your acquiescence. If neither tactic works, he will sigh, say he's not hungry, and sit brooding in front of the TV. You better be prepared to either give in or live in silence. Before you gratefully choose the latter, remember silence to a Crab is punctuated with long, mournful sighs, minor to major groans, and frequent whimpering mutters.

A prime example of a male Crab in action is King Henry VIII. When Henry wanted to divorce his first wife, Catherine (a Sagittarius), in order to marry Gemini Anne Boleyn, you would think that he would have said, "So be it." Instead, in typical Cancer style, Henry tried to ensure that everyone in the kingdom agreed with him. He dragged out the barge, visiting his royal advisors up and down the Thames. He petitioned the Pope for an annulment, even encouraged Catherine to say their marriage was never consummated. When Catherine refused, he locked her in the Tower of London. When the Pope refused, King Crab created the Church of England, installing himself as its secular head. Through alternating displays of temperament and torture, he secured most of his noblemen's support. Then, true to his changeable nature, he had Anne beheaded, in just under three years of marriage, after it had taken him five years to fight the battle to marry her in the first place.

While your Crab will probably not have you dispatched, he is totally capable of blinding himself to everything that doesn't reflect his narrow, ever changing viewpoint. And you will suffer a tedious display of relentless carping and whining aimed at securing your slavish, unquestioning devotion.

Since you're in a no-win situation anyway, you might as well tell him you like boysenberry sherbet, you've just quit your job, and by the way, is that a pimple sprouting on the end of his nose?

If You Love One: Cancer Woman

Kind and mothering, the Cancer woman instantly makes you think of apple pie and a crackling fire. Your lady Crab has a delightful, whimsical sense of humor and a generous, compassionate heart. She expects a man who is faithful, thoughtful and stable. Her life revolves around you, family, and a select circle of friends.

Before you try to sweep her off her dainty little feet, you might reread the old poem The Spider and the Fly. A female Crab weaves what appears to be a cozy love nest, complete with devoted companion. Set one hairy little foot inside, and you'll get stuck in a tangle of emotional blackmail forever.

Your home will be a shrine to her life-to-date. The walls are covered with pictures of relatives, friends, and the clown she met when she was three. Every Cancer woman has a box stashed somewhere that's full of single earrings, corks from wine bottles, seashells, postcards, and at least one of her baby teeth.

She is emergency-phobic. Her car will be packed with a first aid kit, dried fruit and trail mix, bottled water, pillows, and a homing beacon in case you are ever lost in the desert. The fact that you live at the beach and she rides a bicycle to work is of no consequence.

She's so vague that it's often hard to tell if she is listening intently or sleeping with her eyes open. And, although she will cry profusely and apologize because she spilled coffee on your autographed poster of Mark McGwire when she took it off the wall to dust behind it, you will never know whether it was an accident or your punishment for staying out too late with your friends last week.

Being true to her Crabby character, Lizzie Borden at first ignored her new stepmother. When that didn't work, she resorted to a series of calculated and well-timed emotional outbursts. Ever the maneuvering Crab, Lizzie waged a behind-the-scenes war of wills while her public image remained one of pious Sunday school teacher and benefactress. I doubt that she planned the double murder. I theorize that her frustrated inability to drive an emotional wedge between her hated stepmother and beloved father finally exploded into a megacase of Cancer hysterics. Remember that if you are determined to wed one of these moody, clinging, moon-ruled lunatics.

Lady Crab is a grazer. To win her, keep your pantry stocked with fattening, filling food of no nutritional value. Her idea of a good home-cooked meal is potatoes and gravy, biscuits and jelly, and a double hot fudge Twinkie-split.

Your Crab may fool you into thinking she wants you to take charge, but in reality she will control you through a series of well-executed near-death experiences, various psychosomatic illnesses, and regular 2 A.M. visits to the emergency room. Any remaining time will be spent reminding you of her many sacrifices on your ungrateful behalf over the years.

Her anger is part tragic queen and part shrewd manipulator. Call to say you have a late meeting, and your Crab will whisper, "That's OK. I understand." Before you hang up she will tell you how long she slaved over your favorite meal despite a blinding headache. Oh, and there's no aspirin in the house. She hoped you could stop and pick some up on the way home, but she supposes she will live until you get home. Imagine weak laughter at this point. You will feel like a jerk for the rest of the evening. She, on the other hand, will hang up the phone, smile, fix herself a plate of leftovers and flip on the TV. On the surface, a female Crab always seems so harmless. So did Lizzie.

If You Are One, Born Rotten

Home is your hiding place, where you can remain locked inside for several months having your groceries delivered. If you do stick out your head, a sudden breeze can send you scurrying back to your darkened room. However, you don't care because you plan on making it rich from a home-based business driven by computer links and the telephone.

You need no social interaction and have few friends. The ones you do have you treat as helpless children to be mothered and smothered. You are not into sports, since walking to the refrigerator for one of your five-dozen daily snacks tires you. Your dietary habits could kill a Taurus, yet you manage to live to a ripe old age.

You have such a morbid fear that Big Brother is watching that your shades are always drawn so "they" can't look in. You realize you are paranoid, but rationalize that that doesn't mean someone isn't really out to get you. You, on the other hand, constantly spy on everyone you know. You should really try to get a grip on reality while you can still find the handle.

Crabs make good double agents, stalkers, antiques dealers, real estate brokers, and shut-ins. You are also natural-born actors and make great caretakers of the sick and demented.

You pride yourself on making things last and are still apt to be driving your first car, exterior carefully preserved with carnauba wax and interior still like new under several layers of blankets. You cling to old romantic partners with the same tenacity.

You are a hypochondriac and so susceptible to suggestion that I strongly advise you to never watch the Operation Channel. If Uncle Joe in Flatfoot, Georgia has gallstones, you crawl around on the floor for a week in agony. Your home library is full of medical textbooks, holistic medicine journals, and various guides to a healthier lifestyle. You keep a copy of Gray's Anatomy on your nightstand, right next to the tray of antacids, tranquilizers, sleeping pills, and liniments. You know the hotline number of every quack doctor, medicine man, and psychic healer within a hundred miles.

You are usually clean, but chronically rumpled as you keep all your clothes in a pile on the closet floor because you are too cheap to use a professional laundry and too afraid to use the iron.

Your moods change so fast that, even if you managed to work up enough energy to invite you sweetheart over for dinner, by the time you've finished lighting the candles and opening the wine, you've lost interest.

Like Scorpio and Taurus, you too are a collector. The difference is that Taurus collects possessions, Scorpio collects people, and you collect tokens of memories. Like the wad of gum you stepped in on your first date.

You are also tenacious, determined, and stubbornly cling to what you know in your heart is right, no matter how ferociously others try to dissuade you. Practice meditating to calm your inner fears and control your urge to hover over every action of your family and friends, and you'll succeed on every level.

Yours is the philosophy of "Patience is virtue." You are prepared to wait and plan for the future you want. And you are neither weak nor helpless when confronted by adversity. Let everyone else posture, preen, and vie for the spotlight. You are too busy diligently and quietly working behind the scenes planting the seeds for a bountiful future.