Twas the day 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.
Till all of the last 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!