‘Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house,
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The biscuits I\’d nibbled, the champagne 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 shops (less a walk, more 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 all 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,
\’Til all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won\’t have a biscuit – not even a lick.
I\’ll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won\’t have hot scones, or cake, or fruit 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 laugh, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet