Twas 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 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'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?

Happy New Year!