Even my aunt Joan, hopelessly sentimental about every member of our family, admitted that I was hideous.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I'm not the most beautiful one of my family.
My aunt looked like Lucille Ball, and everything she touched was beautiful and elegant. But I was intelligent enough to understand I would never be like her.
Very ugly things were said about me.
When I was very young I was the ugly duckling. I had a lot of complexes. My sister was wonderful and I was nothing.
I'm the ugly sister. I'm the fat one. I'm the transvestite. I have had those mean things said about me at least twice a day for the last five years. It's horrible, you know? But I can brush that stuff off.
When my sister Joan arrived, I asked if I could swap her for a rabbit. When I think what a marvellous friend she's been, I'm so glad my parents didn't take me at my word.
I said something really stupid once. I told a friend that my mother was so beautiful, but my dad was ugly. My dad heard it and just laughed it off, but I felt guilty. It haunted me for years. I should never have said that.
I was a big shiny, glittery-type person. Now I'm a jeans and T-shirt girl, or I'll wear sun dresses and cowboy boots in the summer. But at first I had to have stylists tell me, 'That's ugly.'
I grew up in a family where we weren't allowed to talk about beauty or to put any emphasis on physical appearance.
When I was born I was so ugly the doctor slapped my mother.
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