Obama Mama, the wife and mother

Alright, this is something new, no poetry. Some of you are probably thinking, yes! That's alright tho.



N.E. way



I started this blog because although I love the blogs I have been reading, none really pertains to me, the grown, sexy, married and mothered. So here you go, a desperate black housewife.



Issue #1



Well recently we moved 1500 miles away from home and there is nothing black here. Yeah there are plenty of black people, but nothing to support them except a black haircare section in Walmart (which is the only store of any kind around). There is no black radio station, no black hair stylist, no black barber. Well were I'm from there is a black hair stylist on every corner you turn. Some professional, some bootleg. But don't get it twisted the bootleg hair stylist do the damn thang too, maybe better. Well me being me, I picked up on how to do hair. My specialty; braiding and twisting and anything you want to add to the braids or twist. I'm pretty good too, if I must say so myself, I should be tho, I've been braiding hair since I was in the 4th grade.

Well since we've moved to this little town, I've been braiding the little girls hair and adding a natti flare of beads, balls, and barrettes. I only charge 10 bucks and I provide the hair pretties.

So about 4 weeks ago I get a call from one of my "friends" saying her brother just got of prison and wants his hair braided. My initial thought is yes! more money. No little girls hair, now people can really see my skills. I can do all the Carmello Anothony styles and then some. My husband on the other hand didn't see it that way. Man he damn near had a hissy fit.
" I don't want some dude thats been locked up sitting between your legs why you doing his hair, all hell nah. Tell him you can't do it."
How embarrassing is that? Tell somebody, me a grown ass woman, that I cant do their hair cause my husband said so.
"He ain't gonna be sitting between my legs", I answered.
The only thing he could say was no.
So I punked out and just told the guy, I couldn't do it that day. But he kept calling, or having others to call. Well eventually I did do his hair, he loved it and he even paid me extra, said he liked my work. I ended up doing it twice.


So now he wants me to do his hair more often. He called the house and my husband answered. My husband was mad, but like " Just do it, I don't care. Don't nobody listen to me anyway".