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 eggnog I’d tasted –
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 marvelous meals that I’d prepared:
The gravies & sauces & beef nicely rare, the wine & the rum balls,
the bread & the cheese
And the way I’d never said, “No thank you, please.”
As I dressed myself in my husbands 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 our sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip.
Every last bit 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 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!