AN AFTER-HOLIDAY POEM

‘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 only 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!

One Liner

Youth is when you’re allowed to stay up late on New Year’s Eve. Middle age is when you’re forced to.