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 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 marvellous 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'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 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.