My secret desire

I harbor a secret desire. And it's probably not what you're thinking.

My secret desire is brought to my attention each and every morning as I apply copious amounts of product to my tresses and set off, once again, to tame my hair.

I secretly wish for a pony tail.

And I'm not talking about the pony tail I can now achieve - a sliver of hair caught in an elastic band and held in place by 6 or 7 barrettes. The hair style I resort to when I have chores like power washing animal cages or de-liming the bathroom tile.

No, I'm talking a pony tail where every single strand of hair is firmly captured in a jaunty scrunchy. A pony tail that bounces when I walk.

Kinda like Julia Roberts.

I recently watched a movie where Julia Roberts played a corporate spy. Of course, she looked beautiful - she's Julia Roberts.

Oh, and she was sleeping with Clive Owen.

In one of the scenes, Julia leaves an assignation with Clive, hair askew, to attend a meeting. While on the escalator, she manages to wrestle her locks into the perfectly shaped chignon that she sports in the very next scene.

She doesn't need a mirror, hair clips, straightening gel or a flat iron to do this. She's on a friggin' escalator.

OK, I know that Julia didn't really do this on her own. The director yelled "cut," and hundreds of stylists converged upon Julia, primping and fluffing her into pony tail perfection.

Still, I've always wanted to be able to attain just that sort of casual glamor. The kind where a woman looks stunning and makes it appear absolutely effortless.

How does the pony tail fit into this? A pony tail screams nonchalance. A pony tail tells the world that you're pretty comfortable in your own skin. That you have more important things to do, like steal corporate secrets and romp with Clive Owen, and you just can't spend precious time with a blow dryer.

Never mind how much easier the morning hair routine would become.

I've almost made it a few times. Grown out the layers to the point where I can get just about every hair into the elastic band. But then, I listen to the little voice that tells me 50 year old women have no right to wear pony tails, and I make an appointment for a haircut.

But know what? Screw that little voice. I'm going for it.

You'll know when I've done it. I'll be the woman casually pulling all of my hair into a band on the escalator at Macy's.