'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, 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 I only can "You can 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 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!
Cathy in BC