'Twas the month after Christmas and all thru the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd tasted
At holiday parties, had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).
I'd remembered the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rare,
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I never said, "No thank-you, please".
As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt,
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt -
I said to myself as I only can "you can't spend the winter disguised as a man!"
So--away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruitcake, every cracker, every chip.
Every last bite of food that I like must be banished
'Til all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won't have a cookie--not even a lick,
I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won't have warm biscuits, or cornmeal or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry
I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore--
But isn't that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet.
