Pinning the Tail on an old Donkey
I've always wanted to wear a nice short, well-groomed ponytail.
So far it hasn't happened. If I had one in high school, they would have beat me up.
If I had one at BYU, they would have booted me out.
If I had one while on an LDS mission, they would have sent me home.
If I had one while serving in Bishoprics, it would have been a 12-day dabble instead of a 12-year stint.
Once they release me from working in the temple and once my wife and I serve a mission, I should finally be home free with the hair.
I can hardly wait, and neither can my hair. The whiter my locks become, the less there is of them.
Here is my history of hair, sans potential ponytail.
The comb-and-go look at age 15.
At 17, a little dab of Brylcreem was nice, but Crisco was better.
Mainstream Mane at 30.
At this stage of life, the race is on between my hair and hopes of a ponytail. It should be a photo finish.
Mahalo,
I was feeling rather melancholy and discouraged over some aging issues tonight (I suspect we are close to the same age) and I stumbled across (retorically ofcourse, although I did stumble a year ago and tore both achilles tendons, but I digress; a.k.mentally wander.) your amusing post...old though it may be. Thanks, it made me smile. So far I have not done "getting old"
very gracefully. I'm sure I'll be humbled plenty before its over :)
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