The Reading That Said "Don’t Pee on My Leg and Tell Me It’s Raining"
A Reading Where Judge Judy and The Justice Card Share One Soul
She walked in with her jaw locked.
Me: “Hey. How are y..."
Her: “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
I blinked.
Her: “Let me break it down. I let this man drive my car for four months while I played Uber Barbie and paid for the insurance. I get it back, and a week later? Check. Engine. Light. I’m on the side of the road, in lashes, in crisis, damsel in super stress. And he says it’s not his fault.”
She took a sip of iced coffee like it was poison control.
Her: “So before I sue him, take him to Judge Judy, hex him, or put his government name on a candle—I’m asking: Am I being petty? Or is this karmic accounting, baby?”
First Card: Justice (Upright)
Me: “Ma’am. This card pulled you.”
Her: “What does that mean?”
Me: “This isn’t just ‘you’re right.’
This is ’start the PowerPoint, print the screenshots, and call Judge Mathis’ right now.This is moral receipts, court dates, and your guides holding clipboards.”
She leaned in.
Me: “This card says you let him borrow the car out of love, and he returned it when it became a liability. That’s not detachment. That’s fraud with a beard.”
Second Card: Knight of Swords (Reversed)
Me: “This is his energy. Reckless. Loud. Ego-driven. Never once checked the oil. Probably called you dramatic when the engine started making haunted house noises.”
Her: “HE SAID ‘It was fine when I gave it back.’ Sir. The car was wheezing.”
Her: “He literally said, ‘It’s not like I did it on purpose.’ Which is what men say when they absolutely did something on purpose.”
Me: “Exactly. This card is giving reckless exit strategy. He gave you the car back when it was one pothole away from the ER.”
Third Card: The Chariot (Reversed)
Me: “No. Because this is your actual car. Reversed.”
She screamed
Me: “The Chariot reversed is no forward motion. It’s being stuck. Stalled. Struggling. And it’s not just literal—it’s spiritual. You were trying to move forward. He returned you to stillness. And now the metaphor is parked on the expressway.”
She put her hand on her forehead.
Her: “I knew I should’ve just sold the car, blocked him, and leased a Vespa.”
Me: “So… do you want justice? Or peace?”
She looked at me dead in the eye.
Her: “I want both. I want peace, but with documentation. I want karma and court dates. I want him to step on a Lego and lose his warranty.”
I pulled the last card.
Saw it.
And wheezed.
She leaned in.
Her: “WHAT IS IT.”
I flipped the card slowly like it was the season finale of her life.