Twas The Month After Christmas

Twas the month after Christmas,

and all through the house,

Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.

The cookies I’d nibbled,

the chocolate I’d taste

At the 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 remember the marvellous meals I’d prepared;

The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,

The wine and the rum balls,

the bread and the cheese

And the way I’d 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 a winter, disguised as a man!”

So, away with the last of the sour cream dip.

Get rid of the fruit cake,

every cracker and chip.

Every last bit of food that I like must be banished

Till 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 hot biscuits,

or corn bread,

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.