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‘Twas The Month After Christmas
When nothing would fit me

‘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,
At 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 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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02-Jun-2020