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
• 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
• "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?

• Unable to giggle,
• no longer a riot.
• Happy New Year to all
• and to all a good diet!

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