I have now freed myself from the detested ritual: I cut my own hair. And I no longer dye it. Every time I cut my own hair I feel an overwhelming sense of freedom. No longer do I have to lean back in the chair and place my neck in the punishing notch of the tray at the sink for the preparatory shampoo; no longer do I have to make small talk with the hairdresser; no longer do I have to look at my face in the huge mirror, though my face has held up pretty well. No longer do I have to submit to the blow-dryer. And I love not having to spend the money. Though I went to the hairdressers infrequently, the bill and the tips added up.
It was so easy to stop, but not as easy as refusing to wear high-heeled shoes and skirts. The shoes hurt; I never looked good in skirts. Is there another freedom in reach--and then another? What other restraints may I throw off? What habits of mind? Let me think about it. I'll be reporting back soon.