Braiding Saga: Part 1
I'm finally going to do it: learn how to braid. What's that? I'm 23 years old and I don't know how to braid my own damn horse yet? It's embarrasing? Shut up, I know. I just never showed on a level serious enough to need to know how to do it and I thought I could just skate by with a neatly-trimmed mane.
But then I saw these online. And I needed them.
It was really a self-pity fueled purchase, since the neon pink Tuffrider breeches just don't work on me. Something about the cut is six shades of wrong, and I was wandering the tack store in a directionless fog when I saw these. Boom, done.
I bought white bands, too, since let's be real. This bitch ain't about to sew in button braids for a starter trial. And tupperware from Walmart, which is my favorite evil empire for sneaky purchases that can be used for horses. (That's where Dancer's pink face-rubbing towels came from. Don't judge me.) It's got two compartments, so I put the bling in the tiny side and the zillion bands on the other.
Part 2 will come when I've actually done the thing. Godspeed, self.