Apr 07, 2008 10:04AM
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Cleanser, exfoliator, toner, moisturiser, SPF, foundation, concealor, powder. I wonder what I would do with all my free time and spare money if my acne did go away.
"Are you nearly ready to go out?" my boyfriend calls impatiently so I do my mascara quickly and join him in the lounge.
Desperate for cigarettes, he has managed to remove the £20 note from my special money box with a pair of tweezers.
I burst into tears, ruining my perfect make-up.
"I'm saving that money" I shout at him "For microdermabrasion on my acne scars".
"Jesus Eloise!" he says standing up suddenly. "I'm fed up of your vanity and dysmorphia."
I sit on the sofa, clutching my precious money box close to me. I hardly look up as he packs everything he owns into a rucksack; two pairs of dirty jeans, three T-shirts and a set of Chef's knives.
"Why don't you visit a cancer ward, and meet people who have something real to worry about?" he doesn't wait for an answer and slams the front door.
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