Saturdays were bad for Michelle.
As a Libra, who invested so much in her marriage, she wanted Saturdays to be their days for passion and shopping, the two activities that made her feel valued.
But Jeff, her Taurus husband, went fishing. He needed, he said, the peace of the riverbank.
There were worse things than fishing. It was not as if he ever caught anything.
Her mind snagged on this thought, as Libra minds do. It wriggled and wriggled, but could not get free.
How did she know he was fishing? Was it a clever excuse? Was he being unfaithful? They should have talked it through. But she was too vain to show her insecurity.
Instead, when her friend Lyn said, one Saturday lunchtime, come to the pub she did. And there she met Alan, his intense Scorpio eyes, the smart flattery, the clever sexuality, the voice she recognised from the radio. If Jeff was cheating on her, well, she was going to do the same.
She was warmed, sustained by her Saturday morning sessions with Alan, until he announced that he was going to get married. He, not her husband, was the one with the other woman.
When she came to see me, she was feeling guilty and trapped by too much Libra thinking about what to do next. Should she tell her husband, should she accuse him? Best not, after all he had simply been going fishing. And disloyalty wounds Taurus.
So they talked about Saturdays. Now sometimes he stays home for a morning of food and love – his twin passions. Sometimes he goes fishing alone. And sometimes she joins him and, when they are sure no one is around, they make slow and tender love behind a trailing curtain of weeping willow.