The Month After Christmas

[Ann]

T'was 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 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 never said, "No thank you, just 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 all 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 pounds they 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