The zodiac changed. In 2009, an earthquake realigned the stars and bumped our astrological charts, according to some expert in Minnesota. This was the talk of Happy Hour tonite. I didn’t pay much attention until someone said everyone’s sign had changed. Not me, I thought. I’m sure mine didn’t change. I’m such an Aries. But what? Someone said, “You’re a Pisces now.”

“That’s not me. That’s my Dad’s sign. I’m fire. I’m not water!”

We were out at Havana Central, a fun place for our big group. We were saying good bye to our beloved Matt Morgan who’s moving on to another, better job in Connecticut. Why would anyone want to leave NYC? It was the first Happy Hour I’d been to in a while ($3 for a beer).

Back to the astrological signs. Everyone seemed a bit queasy about losing their signs. Someone said, “It feels like I’ve just discovered I’m adopted. I’m not who I thought I was.”

I tried to embrace my new identity. I would be more placid, more like a fish than a ram.

Someone showed a picture of Ophiucus, the new symbol in the stars. He wore a phallic snake around his waist. I kinda liked that, but I didn’t like that the new sign was a man. Why not a woman?

I asked them to look up my daughters’ new sign. They were Virgos now. Comforting.

Then, after 15 minutes of stressing out about our new signs, someone said, “I just got a text. It says these new signs only apply if you’re born after 2009.”

Thank God. We leaned back in our chairs, returned to eating our Cuban sandwiches, our rice and beans. We could all go back to being who we were. (Except Matt, of course, who’s leaving.) But, phew, crisis averted.