"Twas' The Month After New Year's"

 

Twas the month after New Year's 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 waste.

When I got on the scale there arose such a number, when 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 and I only can, "You can't spend the 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.

-Author Unknown-