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!