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Twas
The Week After Christmas
Twas the
week 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.
All 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."
So--away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruitcake, 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 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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