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 eggnog I’d taste
All 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 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!