The Month After Christmas

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!

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