Day 8

Just Us Poors

I woke up to a text from the US, which informed me that our lottery tickets didn’t even come close to nabbing the Powerball jackpot. Good thing we didn’t jump the gun on buying 3 matching yachts!

I had to break the news to Papi, who claims he dropped to his knees and started singing Adele. Can you blame him?

Feeling despair about being non-billionaires.


We’re STILL working on our round layers, but at least Kate’s ‘do is starting to have some retro style to it now.

She’s reminding me of early Pat Benatar or Joan Jett (partially due to her plastic Resting Bitch Face), so it’s fun to watch her cut evolve with each round of trimming. Just don’t call her hairstyle a “shag”, because that means something VERY different in the UK…

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We broke up the day with some practice consultations (a procedural way of asking the client what they want, or guiding them toward a hairstyle if they aren’t sure).

When it was my turn to play “client”, I naturally asked for the basics: A skin fade with comb over that starts waaaay in the back. Just comb it all up and over from my neckline, plz!

My New Yorker dreams were thwarted yet again, as the newsstand put in their order too late and didn’t get this week’s issue delivered. I’ll have to wait a whole ‘nother week to get my literary fix. #FirstWorldProblems

Toward the end of the day, news rolled in that we lost another British legend to cancer: Alan Rickman. While losing Bowie was an international tragedy, this one feels more like a personal one. An iconic actor, so many memorable roles, and THAT VOICE.

Rest easy, you handsome devil.

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