Ballet hair

Most every Saturday morning it's the same scene: After a hard run with the chicas, I race in the door, sweaty, disoriented, hungry--sometimes just as Hubby is gathering up his keys--and I must immediately pull up Doodlebug's hair into a tight ballet bun. The exactness and patience it requires is just too much for someone who hasn't had her coffee or shower.

I wonder which is more likely...that Hubby could learn to do the hair, or that I could start running home faster?