I’m not a great beauty. So what?

I don’t want to be a model, so why would my face matter?

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“Will you go out with me?” George asks from under his fringe. I stare at him, dubiously. Even at 11, I’d learnt to be cautious playing this game. I say yes, largely out of curiosity. He shrieks with laughter. Ah. The joke was me.

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Written by

24 year old with an awful lot to say about everything. Opinions entirely my own. Usually. madelaine@madelainehanson.co.uk

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