Get your facts straight. Women raised in Mexico who migrate here maintain their beauty forever—check out pictures of silent-film goddess Dolores del Río, who gave men palos even into her 80s. Their hijas, on the other hand, are the ones who blow up into blimps. The difference? A Mexican mom's 18-hour workday—the mopping and kid-rearing for other families and hers, the factory-working, and the husband's lunch preparing—keeps the flab off; any thickness is muscle earned from repetitive work that would crumble a weightlifter. The daughters, meanwhile, are as American as you, gabacho: they're spoiled, fat asses who party hard, overeat and don't do quehaceres (chores) after coming home from a day at the office or Chicano Studies class because they have a Mexican to do it—their mami.