‘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 marvellous 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 the summer 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?