The Magic Hair Shoppe Around The Corner

The Magic Hair Shoppe Around the CornerLet’s for conversation sake down play it and even act like it doesn’t exist. You know the weave in the room. I think it’s true, there is power in the ponytail. There is life in the locks and longevity in length. There is wonder in the wig and weave, and extended life in the extension.  
I am man so I don’t know for sure, but I am simply sharing my observation. From this side of the street, window, and selfie, it looks like there is life in the locks and longevity in length. “To have or not to have length,” is the question. I had watched ladies with no length dawn the “mental magic,” and turn completely into something else. From the time the hair stylist turns them around in the mirror to see the finished product, or at the time they see and feel the luscious locks laying shoulder length for themselves, something amazing happens. Transformation happens. I read that Transformation is a marked change, as in appearance or character, usually for the better. How else can you explain and external adjustment that brings about a change internally. It’s begs the question, “Is effective change made outside in or inside out.  

She sat down in the chair with her God given amount of the good stuff. Her request of the magician was from her mouth, “Give me more,” but from her heart she screamed, “make me a model, a doll, a woman of confidence and power. This sounds more the emperor’s new clothes, but in the tune of Nina’s new hair. The lady with the magic wand, that resembled a curling iron, granted her wish and went to work.

Iron, sew, fluff, pull, wash, bump, and style, was the magic words, the final spin. There you have it, a hocus pocus in the matter of hours. Some men want to know, “What goes on in there?” The rest of us, without question, gladly pay the magician inside the shop to continue doing what they do. I heard a man say, “I want me a pretty girl.” Another man said, ” You have to go down to that magic shop and stand outside, that’s where they make them!” You will see them stumble and drag in one way, but come out a totally different way. It’s almost like they take a steep rugged stairwell up, but take the runway down. He took the advice of the man and decided to take a trip to the magic shop. He watched a lady walk in with a little of the good stuff. Her head was down, depressed, and she was looking very unhappy. Three hours later, she walked out with bouncing, luscious, shoulder length, flowing locks of the good stuff, and swinging it like she was born with it. She also had a smile, a walk, and a talk that left the man speechless.  

There is much mystery in the old magic shop around the corner. As men, we through the best of technology, cameras, and mic’d spies, have also discovered that someone has bottled the magic. Someone is moving the product. We know it because the magic doesn’t just happen at the magic shop anymore, but it happens in basements, bathrooms and even kitchens. It’s the lady with the curlers I bet. All we know is, we watch and pay for weekly transformational trips to the magic shop and we honestly are amazed. 

To any man brave enough to take the pilgrimage, conquest, or journey to the outside of the magic shop, I just want to warn you, take a lunch. 

Don’t ask me, we only know through phone taps, that they schedule and summon battalions at the same time, to the same place. It’s getting scary. I think the words, “Baby, I am going to get my hair curled,” is morse code declaration closely tied to Beyonce’s “Who runs the World?” 

We tried to send a man in but it didn’t work. They shut the whole operation down when one of us walks in. I went to pick up my daughter one day from the magic shop. I walked in and it got quiet. I think that Chaka Khan song, “I’m every woman,” was blasting on the box. The magician said, “Good bye Skye,” and I’m sure she winked her eye. The whole ride back, it seemed like my ten year old rode with her nose up in the air, and a smirk on her face. She gazed in the mirror and swung her curls from side to side. I think the line used to confuse us is, “Do you like it?” It secretly erases any information you might have gathered while in the shop. I’m not joking. Ask any man what did he see and he won’t remember. Creepy? No. Genius? Yes!!

Informants tell us that some are talking, washing, some under dryers, some in “the chair,” and then there are those who are supposedly getting started. They won’t tell us what they talk about, but somehow they are not only coming out with just hair transformations, but head and heart. 

We have brothers with written testimony of loved ones who return home far more knowledgable of their whereabouts and actions than prior to the visit. A kiss on the forehand means what? If I leave my phone in the car at night it means what? Where did you get words like dismissive and passive? This ain’t no hairdo magic shop, it’s more of Lady Black Panther Party where knowledge is on the menu, and all of them are dining sufficiently. 

 I think the authorities are spending too much time looking in the wrong places for world takeover tactics. It ain’t in the coups it’s in the curls. Maybe this is my conspiracy theory and I could be wrong. Hey homeboy, go see for yourself. Take a trip around the corner to the magic shop and see for yourself. If all else fails, go and pick the Mrs. up and ask her, “What goes on in there?” Cover your ears or be prepared for your memory to be erased!! Amazing!!

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