My Pretty Pony Tail

Reuters/Carlos Barria/Landov

I couldn’t miss it. Sticking out from underneath a pile of Christmas booty Santa left to overrun my house was the prettiest little mass of pink hair. A My Little Pony. Rainbow Dash to be exact. I picked up the brush and started brushing. And brushing. And brushing.

Confession: Brushing hair relaxes me. Put it on a doll and not a screaming toddler, and I’m in heaven.

But this pony’s hair was a mess. Sure it was shimmery and glimmery and pretty and spun like rainbows mixed with sweet cotton candy kisses…I wonder what it would be like to live on a cloud…ok, where did I go…anyway, the hair was a disaster.

Step away from your little girl’s toy, Cheryl.

On my way into the other room, I caught a second-take glimpse of my own mane. Au contraire, my dear, it was my hair that was the disaster (and without captivating glimmer).

No worries. Inspiration from one pretty-in-pink pony, one elastic, one quick hand movement and my hair went from a don’t to a do. Enter the perfect ponytail.

My one stipulation every haircut—the ability to ponytail (yes, I just made that a verb). Not ponynub (what happened once when my stylist was out, and I went to Anne). But ponytail.

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