She wished she looked half as good in tight pants,
wished the cellulite fairy would appear and poof!
Suddenly her too-round ass would be neat and perfect,
and then every boy in school would line up
for a chance to hit that, a chance to party,
they'd overlook how dull she was, how normal,
how perfectly plain except for her J-Lo ass.
She wished she was "one of those rap guys' girlfriends",
or however the song went,
she wished she had curves like the autobahn,
some junk in the trunk,
something just a little more spectacular,
something to jiggle, to shake, to flaunt.
Eventually she'd grow out of it, of course,
she'd find a nice boy or a new obsession,
but none of these truths did a single thing
to ease the pain on these lonely, interminable nights
spent alone in her baby girl room.