
'Twas the month after Christmas...
'Twas the month after Christmas and all through the house,
nothing would fit me not even a blouse.
The biscuits I nibbled the champagne I’d taste,
all the holiday parties have gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales there arose such a number,
When I’d walk to the shops (less a walk than a lumber)
I’d remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared,
the gravies, the sauces, the beef nicely rared.
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese.
And the way I'd not said “No thank you, Please.”
As I dressed myself in my husbands old shirt,
and prepared once again to do battle with dirt.
I said to myself as only I can,
“you can’t spend all summer disguised as a man.’
So away with the last sour cream dip,
get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip,
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished,
until all the unwanted kilos have vanished.
I won’t have a biscuit, not even a lick;
I’ll only want to chew a tasty celery stick.
I won’t have hot scones, or cake, or fruit 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 laugh, no longer a riot,
HAPPY NEW YEAR to all - and to all a good diet.
Busy packing for tomorrow's early start!
Cheers
Shari