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'Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house
Not a garment would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I'd nibble, the eggnog I'd taste
At those holiday parties went straight to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber)
And thought of 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 that I'd never said, "No thank you, please."
When I put on my extra-large husband's old shirt
And prepared once again to do batle with dirt--
I said to myself, as only I can,
"You can't spend the winter disguised as a man!"
So--away with the last of the sour cream dip!
Go, fruitcake! Go, cookies! Go, cracker and chip!
Each last bit of food that I like must be banished
'Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won't have that ice cream, not even a lick;
I'll chew only 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!

[Note - making the rounds, unattributed, of course - ed.]

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