Just trying to read my magazine

The set-up: I'm waiting for the plane, reading a New Yorker article about the Farrely brothers trying to write a script for a Three Stooges movie. (which I have mixed emotions about)
"Are you a screenwriter?"
stare of disbelief "No."
pause
"I thought maybe you were."
"No. It's just the New Yorker."
pause
"Do you live in New York?"
"No."
pause
"You looked like the sophisticated New York type."
"No."
pause
"You know when I saw you I thought 'She's a sexy blonde screenwriter.'"
stare of disbelief "No."
pause (and I start looking for a different place to sit)
"Do you do something artistic, something to show the world?"
stare in disbelief
"You're a Libra?"
laugh, "No."
"You're a Leo?"
laugh, "No."
pause
"You're not going to say?"
"Scorpio."
"Oh! Of course! That's why you weren't going to say. It really is the best sign. It really is. A strong, sexy sign."
pause
stare of disbelief, actively looking for another seat
Flip the page of the New Yorker and see a comic of two women sitting in a parlor drinking wine, dog on the couch: "I'm a stay at home mom without the kids."
Laugh out loud funny. I didn't want to engage the blonde screenwriter, scorpio fantasy guy, but said, "This is me, right here."
And then I found another seat.