Bad hair days and independence . . .

Independence week, 2020!

Dear you,

Independence:  freedom, liberty, autonomy, self-determination

O.K.  Each of those defining words overlap in denotation.  Check your Oxford dictionary.  I must be free in order to be self-determined.  I must be at liberty in order to act autonomously.  Today I am free to make this ridiculous, non-critical choice:

Get a haircut or don’t get a haircut.

Our local hair salons have reopened with varying levels of precaution.  All are requiring masks for workers and customers.  Some are taking reservations by phone in advance without providing a waiting area inside.  Some are taking walk-ins and providing a “distanced” waiting area.  Either way, the risk of contact is with the hair artist.  She/he may be masked and swathed in antibacterial lotion, but a haircut is obviously touchy-close.  She/he has the same concerns about me. The odds are in my favor since our Walton County numbers are rising but not anywhere near those in south Florida; however, the risk is still there.

Get a haircut, Joyce, or don’t?

I wear my massive, thick hair up in a ball-bun and if left unchecked, that ball-bun becomes ginormous.  (That word is not in your Oxford dictionary.  I checked.) This will happen soon if I don’t get a trim:

What should I do?  Since I am free, at liberty, autonomous, and self-determined, what action should I take?

Ah!  Nothing is ever an either-or situation.  There are options!  I could buy some good scissors and do it myself.  But this might happen:

Should I risk that?  If I cut my own hair and end up looking like a maniac on meth (welcome to Florida, I know the look), does that make me independent or just stupid?

Decisions, decisions.  Ridiculous, non-critical choices.

Whatever I decide, this is what I know:  I am lucky to be healthy and alive . . . and somewhat free.

Somewhat.

Love,

Joyce