Sorry about this cheesy selection. It's just that it's so true!
The Month After Christmas
or A Visit from Jenny Craig
Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The candy 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!
Then 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 sweat suit
And prepared to dig in to the warm brie-en-croute.
But 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 rum 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.
Just let me chew on a celery stick."
I won't have hot biscuits, or pasta, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I'm hungry, no, starving, and life is a bore—
But isn't that what January is for?
The party is over, we are done with the riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The candy 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!
Then 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 sweat suit
And prepared to dig in to the warm brie-en-croute.
But 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 rum 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.
Just let me chew on a celery stick."
I won't have hot biscuits, or pasta, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I'm hungry, no, starving, and life is a bore—
But isn't that what January is for?
The party is over, we are done with the riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!
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