‘Twas a Month After Christmas

'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 I only 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!

• Author Unknown