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The 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 tasted

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 rare,

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!

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