Misreading the Signs

Ever since my ten-year-old nephew got his hands on an astrology book a few weeks back, it seems that most of our phone conversations have gone something like this.

Nephew Cole: "When is your birthday, Uncle Corey?"

Me: "August 13th."

Nephew Cole: "Ah yes, a Leo. Generous and warmhearted yet pompous and patronizing. I can definitely see that."

But after chatting with my sister earlier this evening, it turns out I'm not the only one in my family who's feeling the zap of the zodiac.

Nephew Cole: "Auntie Kelly, did you know you're a Libra?"

Sister Kelly: "Actually, I did know that, Cole. What are you?"

Nephew Cole: "I'm a Libra as well."

Sister Kelly: "Oh. We're like twins."

Nephew Cole: "Not really."

Sister Kelly: "Okay."

Nephew Peyton (from across the room): "I'm a tortoise!"

Nephew Cole: "No, you're a Taurus, Peyton. Tor. Us."

Nephew Peyton: "That's what I said, Cole."

Nephew Cole (to my sister): "Bullheaded and inflexible. Such a Taurus."