I’m surrounded by tall, slender women
While I am quite short and have curves,
And to see them all stylish and graceful…
Well… sometimes it gets on your nerves.
They can eat without thought when you’re dining,
They take notice of nothing but taste…
While if I just glance at a cream cake,
Its volume goes straight on my waist!
It is true that it’s jealousy talking,
No reproaches shall pass from my lips,
But while they sit there grazing unconscious,
Each morsel adds weight to my hips.
And then, there’s the elegant glamour,
The effortless draping and pleat…
While the same garment worn by a hobbit
Will look like a meal-sack with feet.
The tall, gamine goddess can carry
What should never be worn by the plump,
What the fashion-plate figure wears lightly
Would just make me look like a frump.
Because I am vertically challenged
(Yes, okay, horizontally too)
They put me to shame with their inches
Both upwards and sideways, I rue.
They can see over fences that blind me
And reach the top cupboards, you know,
(And see all the dust in the places
My little, short legs cannot go.)
But just when you’re feeling resentful
And cursing the Fates for your shape,
“I’d give such a lot for your curves, dear,”
They say, and you’re left all agape.
So recall, if you look in the mirror
And by discontent you are flayed,
Just remember that the perfect figure
Is that which you have, tailor-made.