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 meals
I had 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 Summer,
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.
