Been under a wig since the heat broke. Not cause the hair underneath was bad, cause nobody had touched it right in a long time and it was easier to cover it than to keep getting disappointed. Three different chairs this year. Three different women saying they do silk presses. Three times walking out with hair that looked fine for a day and then remembered who it was by Tuesday.
Then somebody at the nail shop said one name. Shonna. BeStylin Black. Said it like it was obvious, like everybody already knew and half the shop nodded.
So the appointment got booked. Wig came off in her chair this morning and she looked at what was under it for a long minute, did not say nothing and just started working. No lecture about what the last person did wrong. No sucking her teeth at the ends. Just hands moving, heat going and the kind of quiet a woman only get when she know exactly what she doing.
Two hours later this walked out her door. Look at it. Bouncing on it’s own. Shining without a drop of oil sitting on top. Flipping at the ends like it got somewhere to be. Had to stand in the parking lot between my car and somebody red truck and let the sun hit it before even going home, cause a press like this deserve a picture while it still perfect.
Thats a new stylist. Thats a permanent chair. Every silk press from here on, every blowout, every time the wig need to come off and the real thing need to show up, it go to Shonna and nobody else. Loyal is not a strong enough word. She got a client for life and she earned it in one sitting.
Silk press season. Wig in the closet. Toodles.
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