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 eggnog I'd 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'd remember the marvelous 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 only I 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,
'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!!