It was supposed to be a regular slay day. Edges laid, outfit on point, wig perfectly installed—or so I thought. As I strutted out feeling like a main character, the wind had other plans. One gust later, my wig flew off like it had booked its own flight to freedom.

There I was, chasing it across the road like I was in a Nollywood action scene. People watched. Some laughed. I wanted the ground to open up. But I held my head high (literally, because my cornrows were now the main character), grabbed my wig, dusted it off, and kept it moving.

Moral of the story? *Secure your wig. Always.* Or be ready to run like you're dodging village people. 😂