'Twas
The Month After Christmas
'Twas
the month after Christmas,
and all through the house,
Nothing would fit me,
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 prepared,
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 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?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all, and to all a good diet.
True confession made
by reader Esther L., Greenville, PA - - - A seriously
great nurse!
|
|
