'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,
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 say,
"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,
till all the additional
ounces have vanished.


I won't have a cookie--
not even a lick,
I just want 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!