Paris Munro, 32, Manchester
L ooking up at my grandad, I watched as he lathered foam over his face.
He picked up a razor, carefully dragged it around his cheeks and chin.
It was 1994,1 was 4 years old, and I wanted to be just like him.
So half an hour later, I crept back into the bathroom and smoothed foam on my cheeks.
I'd never been a girly girl, into dolls and dresses.
I preferred boys’ stuff… like shaving!
But as I picked up the razor, there was a yell.
‘No, Paris!’ shouted my grandad, grabbing it from my hands.
I didn't understand
