De miss a más sin pasar por Albacete

Incredible, I know. I, Miss Albacete, become Miss Spain. So that later they say that there is tongo. I saw it difficult from the beginning because what was I doing among so many women with infinite legs, marked cheekbones and thin as sylphs. You see me and you think that I am a thin woman. There are people who breathe, who eat air, or those who are on a perpetual diet. And then we are the fat girls. Now I have the feeling of being a fraud, but a crown fraud after all. After the reign of Miss Spain (I will not return to Albacete) the contracts haunted me: television, conventions (yes, man, surely you have seen me in some), a thousand merriment, but I wanted to be a stand-up writer. The hit was terrible, so I had to listen to my representative: I see you as a mocatriz. Yeah sure. Model, singer and actress. And there I am. Can you be a mocatriz with a seven-year-old son, an ex in Italy, a tight flirt and a mother in Albacete?