January Diet Poem

It 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 taste,
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 rared,
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
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.