T’was the month after Christmas...

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   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 

and  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.