Twas the day 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 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 summer 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 fried chicken, or mud cake, 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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