'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 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 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 chips
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 to chew only 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!
"
The
Month After Christmas
