When I first told you last week I was going to be on TV, I mentioned that there “may or may not be a really embarrassing photo of me broadcast on national television.”
Turns out it wasn’t.
And I could’ve gotten away with you not seeing a relic of my awkward past – but what kind of blogger would that make me?
So, here it is: proof that I was, in fact, a giant. And not a tall, willowy rake like the supermodel who sat beside me on the BBC Breakfast sofa.
Nope, I was a 5’10” thirteen-year-old complete with hips, braces, and the only clothes that would fit her – her mom’s.
Please be kind. That giant girl still lives inside of me somewhere.
Or, rather, I live inside of her.