Twas the month after Christmas,
And all through the house,
Nothing would fit me,
Not even a blouse.
The cookies I’d munched,
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 remembered 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 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 the winter,
Disguised as a man!"
So away with the last,
Of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruitcake,
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 cornbread 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.
1 comment:
:-) That's really cute!
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