'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'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
‘Til 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!