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complaining about how she felt out of place amongst the “uncultured” and “poor” students in her dorm. There were no glam names, no glitzy fashion, no shiny, top-of-the-range cars. The worst thing in this foreign experience was that there were no maids to bring her clothing to her, pay attention to her beauty needs, or handle her waking times, meals, and errands. It was almost cruel, and the culture shock shattered her very being. It was enough for her to attempt suicide, she said, as she was facing social suicide after years of climbing up the social ladder. The girls embraced her, and Sheikha even invited her to spend the weekend in her house. Lulu donned the puss-in-boots façade and sold them the story that she was spoiled for choice in Saudi Arabia and now was in Kuwait, left to fend for herself among the poor and unworthy girls that she deemed beneath her and, in her elite opinion, disgusting.
    â€œMy mother and father both went to the same university you aren’t liking. It’s not for poor or uncultured people,” said Sheikha with a smile, trying to cheer her up.
    â€œBut I don’t know anyone there,” Lulu said, her voice breaking. “Everyone looks like they don’t know anything about anything. I am a complete stranger there. I can’t sleep on their single bed; it is only a meter wide. I swear I keep thinking I’m going to fall off on the tile floor!”
    Lulu arrived at Sheikha’s with her luggage and never left. Literally. She resided in the lap of luxury. Servants waited on her instead of her having to wait for the shared bathroom and showers at the dorms. She would leave the bathroom a mess—towels tossed on the ground, tissues everywhere but in the bin, and the toothpaste tube left without the cover and oozing. Were it not for the servants regularly cleaning, the next person who entered would have found it rude. Her clothes were always pressed, either ironed or steamed. Buttons sewn on when they fell off or came loose. Accessories fixed when and where necessary. Food served around the clock. Travel expenses were paid and visas issued, in addition to regular expensive gifts from different generous members of the family. This was the life she had dreamed of; save there was no husband, just a kind girl who hosted her. Her dream had come true—she lived in a palace she deemed herself worthy of and enjoyed the luxury she had hoped to attain. The servants served her, as opposed to her picking at the clogged hair at the salon sink after her mother had shut down and the staff had left. She was treated as a member of the family. Money was handed to her on every occasion, and delicious food was served at the ring of a bell. Why would anyone want to leave heaven?
    When Lulu’s tight-fisted father heard that his daughter was living with a royal, he stopped sending her anything except for pocket money, a mere 300 Kuwaiti dinars a month. Lulu received almost tenfold that amount living with Sheikha. The contrast was almost ridiculously cruel inher eyes. She would speak at times about how much money her father had, but how difficult and greedy he was with his hard-earned money. Yet she loved him and hated her mother. She hated that he was tight with money, but she knew he loved her and that after he passed away, she would inherit his money. Her mother, on the other hand, would always be regarded as a husband-snatcher and a common hairdresser at a mid-level salon—even after her death. Lulu longed to be a princess and forget her roots. With Sheikha, she was living her dream.
    Lulu’s younger sister, Mona, would always tell her that she was learning how to be glamorous from Sheikha. It was true. Lulu regarded Sheikha as her idol and role model, and she copied her in everything she did. Imitation is a form of flattery, they say, and Lulu flattered Sheikha, although she certainly liked to think of herself as already a lady of royal stature. She liked