Twas the month  after Christmas
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  Twas 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.
  Happy New Year to all and to all a good  diet!