Growing Up With a Gorgeous Mother Made Me Hate The Beauty
I didn’t realize how beautiful my mum was until I wasn’t around eleven or twelve. For me, she was just my mum. Kind, loving, caring, and sometimes angry. Being pretty and gorgeous meant nothing for me, and I didn’t notice someone’s appearance. I saw others by the way they were. Most of them were sweet to me as the waitress from the local bar, who gave me extra cream on my hot chocolate. Some were rude as the older neighbor on the second floor who always complained when we were playing under his window.