T’was 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 all gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!

Then 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 not 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 the additional ounces have vanished.

I won’t have a cookie – not even a lick.

I’ll allow myself only  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 just what January is for?

Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.

Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!