If Taurus were a city, it would be London, with its deep history, sense of decorum and order, and dash of celebrity and pageantry in its political process. If Taurus were a kind of weather, it would be a moody summer rain at 3:01 p.m. that goes on until 7:45 p.m. and then brightens into a dark purple sunset. If Taurus were a punctuation mark it would be a colon, a neat and tidy place to put a list of things or to further explain a subordinate idea. If Taurus were a type of jewelry, it would be a nice gold necklace that you can wear with anything. If Taurus were a day it would be Thursday, with everyone still working hard at their jobs but ready for the weekend, and a little bit of Sunday, especially the Sunday dinner part. If Taurus were an animal, stuffed or not, it would be a bear, big and cuddly and fuzzy and warm, with the real one tearing you up and swallowing the soft parts of you and the stuffed one soothing you. If Taurus were a type of dream, it would be one you could barely remember, but would include some pink smoke over a solid mountain, and you would feel a refreshment after waking up that would be extremely kind. If Taurus were a type of exercise it would be Pilates, very graceful and overpriced in urban areas, but also simple and great. If Taurus were a type of cooking tool, it would be a cake pan for, you know, delicious cakes, savory or sweet and also maybe both. If Taurus were a plant, it would be grass, like the kind that fills an endless field, and it would beckon you to lie down on it, because why not, life is short, and you should, at least in this present moment, be happy.