China Symone Peoples 

China Symone Peoples finally made it up the stairs and into Madame Leslie Beauty Salon. The awful stench of burnt hair really irritated her, but not as much as the relentless banter of the cramped room’s gossip. It reminded her of her grade school days and that bad ass Billy Valentine, who used to scrape his finger nails across the chalkboard in Mrs. Hooper's class. It was enough to make her think twice about whether she was up for hearing the latest edition of The Hoodcast News.

      “Whew, it is hot out there, I probably lost fifteen pounds just walking across the street, and the combination of DC rush hour traffic, eight flights of stairs and these big thighs, got me breathing harder than a runaway slave.”

      After all that work, she decided to stay, well long enough to catch her breath. So, she sat down on a sofa along the picture window next to this girl who had the same bass violin shape as she does.

      Politely she spoke to her, “How ya doin!” The girl glanced up at her with this look as though her dog had just died or something,

      “Hi!” At least, that was what China thought she said, with all the hens cackling in the background and the faintness of her voice made it hard to tell. But China just assumed that’s what she said. Because, when someone speaks to you, you speak back, right?

      Just as soon as this girl spoke, her head dropped back down toward her lap, as she shifted her broad curvy hips from one side to the other. The sun was shining bright outside but there definitely was a dark cloud hanging over this girl’s head. Her heart was heavier than the two of them put together. Her fidgeting made it known that this was her first time there, Rookie!

      China on the other hand, having been there many times before, knew that Madame Leslie would take his sweet ass time, getting into everyone’s business before he actually did any work. All she needed was a magazine to take her mind away from all the drama echoing of the mirrored walls of that fish market. She reached for a tabloid magazine at the same time the girl beside her did.

      Bumping her hand, she blurted out “Ooh, I’m sorry!” before China could part her lips.

      “No, that’s ok you go a head; most of the chicks in those magazines are just a phony as their breast and the men they date.”

      She let out this painful sigh, “Well, at least they have somebody.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I have not had a serious relationship since high school. And all the men that seem interested only want one thing. They always want to come over and lay up with me but never want to take me anywhere.”

      At that, moment China felt an instant connection with her, in a world where thin is supposed to be in. She just knew that two voluptuous sistas could find solidarity and support in one another. So, she moved closer, “My name is China Peoples. What’s yours?”

      Reluctantly, the girl answered in her soft voice, “My name is Christina Jones” She then mumbled, “Nobody wants me . I’m too fat.”

      China leaned closer, “Listen Sweetie, you are not fat; you may be thick but sexy, big but beautiful, large but lovely or just voluptuous but never say that you are fat. And don’t ever let anyone call you that either, let them see you only as you see yourself a bone big queen. Me, I refuse to let anyone see my size as a handicap or disability.”