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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, the holiday parties had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number, that I walked to the store (less a walk, more 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!
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