'Twas the month after Christmas

'Twas the month after Christmas...

T'was 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 had to 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 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!

author unknown ~ stolen from Anni

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