Why Dario’s Aries Fire Might Just Burn Your Horoscope to Ashes—Meet the Star Who’s Too Hot to Handle!
Added on June 26, 2025 inASTROLOGY CARDS
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Ever find yourself knee-deep in mud on a rainy Easter Sunday, stubbornly pulling weeds while the world demands you join in the traditional festivities? Well, that’s exactly where I found myself at twenty-seven — smack dab in my Saturn return, wrestling with adulthood’s messy demands amid the silent, soaking desert rain. As the skies poured and the world around me clung to Easter brunch and ham dinners, I was busy defining what “being Italian” really meant to me… or ignoring it entirely. Could a stubborn Aries named Dario convince this rain-loving Libra that some traditions are just worth the mud on your knees? Or was this day meant for standing alone, soaked and satisfied in the garden? Astrology, weeds, and unexpected companionship — now that’s a Sunday story you won’t want to miss. LEARN MORE.
I was twenty-seven, living alone in the middle of nowhere in my house on two acres. It was my Saturn return coming in. Time to define myself as an adult despite pressure from parents, society or other authority figures. It was Easter Sunday and it was raining. I was glad it was Sunday, because it was my day off. I worked for long hours for Frito Lay and I only got one day off each week.
I was particularly relieved this week, because potato chip sales surge around holidays. I’d been working relentlessly, for three weeks prior, in order to make the most of the opportunity for increased sales. Better yet, it was raining.
If you live in the desert, rain is special. It’s precious, even. It’s an event and if you’re me, you don’t sit inside and watch it fall. You go out in it. You stand in it or you drive in it. You definitely experience it because who knows when you’ll see it again. On this rainy Sunday, I decided to work in my garden.
The guy I bought my house from was a rock mason from Germany. He built a beautiful rock patio in back, surrounded by rock planters. With the ground soft from the rain, I decided to pull weeds.
I went out back and kneeled down in the mud. There’d been an extraordinary amount of rain so it was remarkable. I was into this. The rain was falling lightly, the sun was shining. I was aware of how pleasant it was. For one thing, I was glad it’s raining on my day off. What luck! I liked the feel of the dirt in my hands and so forth. A jeep pulls in and parks in the drive. It’s Dario.
I met Dario when I was nineteen. He was twenty six. He asked me on a date and I said no. He asked me again and I said no. He told me I didn’t know what I was missing and I said no.
He asked me on a date when I was twenty, and I said no. He asked me when I was twenty-one and I said no, even for Peking Duck.
When I was twenty-two, he left town. Too bad, because I liked Dario a lot. He was Italian and he looked like my brother. I didn’t want to date him, because of this, but still. I really did like Dario. He was a good looking man and utterly likable. I’m just not going out with my brother!
When I was twenty-four, I moved to the middle of nowhere and when I was twenty-five, Dario moved to the middle of nowhere. We ran into each other, in the middle of nowhere. He asked me on a date.
“No.”
“Elsa, Come on. We’re getting’ old already. Why won’t you go out with me? You’re not married. You haven’t found anyone better and that’s because there is no one better for you. I’m your man.”
“No. You look like my damned brother, Dario. How many times have I told you? How am I supposed to go on a date with you? Forget it.”
“But Elsa, please.”
“No fuckin’ way. But if you want to go hang out, come on! But I’m buying because it’s no date!”
And now I’m twenty-seven, pulling weeds. Dario sees me squatted down in the mud, gets out of his jeep and comes over.
“Elsa! What are you doing?” he asked.
“Huh?” I said, wiping my hair out of my face with my arm. “What does it look like? I’m pullin’ weeds for chrissakes.”
“Pullin’ weeds?’ He shakes his head. “What are you doing pulling weeds?”
“What do you mean, what am I doing pulling weeds? It’s been raining. The ground is soft.”
“But it’s Easter.”
“So?”
“Easter, Elsa. It’s Easter. You shouldn’t be pulling weeds on Easter. Plus it’s raining. Haven’t you noticed you’re getting wet?”
“Well yeah, Dario. I have noticed that. It’s on purpose isn’t it? Do you think I am out here pulling weeds in the rain because I want to be dry?”
“You don’t have to do that now?”
“I want to do it now.”
“You want to pull weeds on, Easter? I came out here to see if you wanted to go to brunch with me. So do you? I know you don’t have any family down here and either do I.”
“Brunch? No. Sorry. I’m not going anywhere today, Dario. I’m tired. I’ve been working all week. You know how hard I have to work.”
“But you’re not too tired to pull weeds?”
“Well, no. I like pulling weeds. Crap, Dario. You act like I’m weird.”
“You are weird.”
“Well fuck you. I’m not that weird. You’ve been begging for a date for how many years?”
“Almost ten.”
“So I’m not weird.”
“Okay, Elsa. Okay. Calm down. I’m not here to get you excited. So do you want to go to brunch?”
“I said, no. I’m staying home.”
“Elsa, please. It’s Easter. Don’t you want to have Easter dinner?”
“What? No, I don’t guess I do.”
“Elsa, Elsa, Elsa. You can’t do this. You have to eat dinner on Easter.”
“What?”
“We’re Italian.”
“Yeah?”
“So Italians eat dinner on Easter. You just can’t say no.”
I stand up. I’m wearing shorts, so my legs are muddy. So are my hands. I brush my hair out of my face with the top of my forearm. I wasn’t expecting anyone. “Dario, I’m not going, okay? Now I’m getting pissed.”
“Elsa, I can’t let you do this. You have to come to brunch with me. Now, please. I’ll wait and you can get cleaned up. You’ll feel good once we get there.”
“I feel good now. Or at least I did until you got here to bug the living shit out of me. Now once and for all, I’m not going, okay?”
“All Italians eat Easter dinner. You can’t be Italian and not celebrate Easter.”
I look at him like he’s crazy because as far as I’m concerned, he is. “That’s bullshit. Because who am I? Am I Italian?”
“Well, yeah. That’s why I like you so much.”
“And that’s why I like you so much. So you go be Italian and eat your dinner and I’m going to pull these weeds. And I don’t want to talk anymore because the rain is going to stop and… well look. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to go, okay? I just don’t. Can’t you see that?”
“You rather pull weeds in the rain? You’re filthy. You’re covered in mud and you like this better than eating ham? I’m makin’ you an offer here.”
I laugh. “Goodbye Dario. I don’t even like ham.”
“What? Everyone likes ham.”
I stare.
“You sure?’
“I’m sure. Look. Thanks. Thanks for thinking of me and I hope you still think I’m Italian but… well I’m just going to stay home today.”
He shakes his head and goes back to his jeep. He waves before he pulls away and I think, “Good ol’ Dario. I sure like that guy.”
Posting this, because, Dario, is mentioned in what I’m working on next. His Aries opposed my Libra… obviously.
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