Maybe it's only funny to me...and to my closest friends. Funny, because I am a woman who inexplicably, and quite against my own will, falls for men with ponytails.
It's not that Ponys are wrong, per se. Some men wear them quite nicely.
The problem is - Ponys usually MEAN something. They are often indicative of certain traits and attributes.
When I was in my 20s and a dater of artists, musicians and actors - the Pony came along for the ride. It was the hairstyle of choice for the fringe set. I most certainly fell for my share of Ponys.
Now that I'm in my 30s I'm quite fond of men who have steady employment and furniture that hasn't been owned by their parents or older siblings. This is where the Pony gets me into trouble.
Ponys aren't big lovers of rules... and bosses are. Ponys don't like buying into the system... and yet, that is where the sofas and love seats reside. Ponys and I don't have a lot in common these days and yet - that does not keep me from almost pathologically seeking them out in any social situation. And while my friends keep a watchful eye on me, that does not keep the Ponys from giving me long, tortured artist looks as they pass by in a cloud of patchouli.
So what am I to do? How does one weigh the gloriousness of a boy who no longer lives in his parents' basement against the free-spiritedness of a boy willing to borrow his sister's hair ties?
What can I say? I've always been a girl who wanted a Pony.
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