Work Boots.
A client came in last week wearing a pair of pink cowboy boots — the kind with the tall shaft and the tooled lightning down the side. She'd pulled them off in the entryway and set them next to the door, spurs still on.
Ida asked her about them while she was mapping her skin. Turns out they're work boots. The client works cattle most days, and the pink was deliberate — her daughter picked the color out when she was seven. That was twelve years ago. The leather has held.
Skin works the same way. It holds everything. The sun, the wind, the years outside, the chlorine from the stock tank, the dust that never quite settles in the Panhandle. It doesn't forget, and it doesn't lie.
That's why the first appointment at Juno isn't a fix — it's a conversation. Ida needs to know what the skin has been through before she can help it move forward. Slow, deliberate work. The kind that lasts.