Look, unless Meg Ryan is actually in costume as Ashley Olsen, and has been growing out her hair for months and months in preparation for this day, when she will impress all the neighborhood children with her ability to impersonate a famously rumpled barely-legal billionaire impresario while handing out mini-Twix, then I strongly suggest she consider at least BRUSHING HER HAIR:
Lady, listen: you're 46 years old. And while I absolutely don't believe that a woman needs to roll over and die once she reaches a certain age (unless that age is, like, 120, at which point I plan to be simply tired out), I do believe that there comes a point for each of us when bedhead stops being sexy and starts looking like you've turned into that nutty old lady on the corner with thirteen feral cats who is always leaning out her kitchen window smoking and yelling at the gardeners not to steal her mail. You're kind of getting there.
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