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Twas A Month After Christmas

‘Twas the month after Christmas and all through the house nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.

The cookies are nibbled, the eggnog I tasted.

All the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!

When I walk to the store (less they walk then a lumber).

I remember the marvelous meals I prepared;

The gravies and sauces and beef nicely seared,

The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese

and the way I never say, ``no thank you, please.”

As I dress myself in my husband‘s old shirt

And prepare once again to do battle with dirt—

I say to myself, as I only can

“ You can’t spin a winner disguised as a man!”

Soo, away with the last of the sour cream dip, get rid of the cake, every cracker and chip.

Every last bite of food that I like must be banished.

Till all the additional answers have vanished.

I won’t have a cookie, not even a lick.

I want only to chew on a long celery stick.

I won’t have hot biscuits, or cornbread, or pie.

I’ll much on a carrot and quietly cry.

I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is a bore—

But is 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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