My poor wife! She’s married to a Virgo and her first-born son is a Virgo. Talk about rotten luck! Well, actually, only the son is dumb luck. It was her own (questionable) choice to marry a Virgo. Some lessons you just learn too late.

Virgos are very particular people. We like things to be a certain way, and we will swear to God that there is a good reason behind our preferences. We can’t always explain the reason, but you should just trust us, because all of our exacting arrangements have worked out perfectly in the past, even if you don’t realize it yet. In spite of how much more efficient we have made your life with our helpfully rigid routines, you might still claim that we are not the easiest people with whom to share a living space. Go figure.

The boy Virgo has worn pull-ups to bed since he was two. He no longer needs them, being conscientious about getting to the bathroom if he has to potty at night. I know this because he gets me up too. My job is to guard the bathroom door in case any intruders have broken into the house for the sole reason of invading his bathroom privacy at 3 a.m.

Knowing there is one fringe bent back, he will not be able to sleep at all. This makes perfect sense, as it is nearly impossible to sleep and complain about trifles at the same time.

He baulks at the idea of wearing regular underwear to bed. You’d think he might be proud of this milestone, but he will not accept the honor. Regular underwear are daytime underwear; he wears nighttime underwear to bed. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s the way it should remain. It has nothing to do with pee; it’s the system – tried and true.

Every night, after I tuck in Virgo Junior, he wants Mommy to give him and hug and kiss, and more importantly, fix his blankets. There is nothing wrong with his blankets, unless you count, as he does, the one spot where a single fringe is folded backward. Don’t worry that all the blankets will be twisted into knots after five minutes of his sleep-thrashing, just make it right so he can overcome this obsession for one more night.

He has not used the Mickey Mouse airplane in over two years, yet it must remain parked between the Little Tikes emergency vehicle and the also obsolete rocking horse. It’s the law.

We have a playroom in the basement. While Virgo Child is certainly no neat-freak about his toys, many of the larger items have exact spots where they are to be parked. Yesterday, my wife cleaned out many of the toys that my son has outgrown, moving them to a different part of the basement.

Later, he and I went downstairs to play. He spent 15 minutes locating all of the old toys and replacing them into their assigned locations. He pushed all of the newer toys my wife had put in their places into a big, messy pile on an unclaimed parcel of floor. When Mommy sees the results, I hope she understands her mistake.

It’s not easy being a Virgo. People should trust our methods by now, but for some strange reason, they don’t. It can be very frustrating. Mommy doesn’t know what it’s like to be a Virgo, and one day this may cause her to explode. We can’t help it that she’s one of those high-strung signs.