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 fudge I did taste,

all 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 remembered the marvelous meals I’d prepared,

the gravies and sauces and beef were nicely rare.

The pies and the cakes, 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 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 cornbread, 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!

-- Anonymous