Twas the month after Christmas (With apologies to the ladies)

Day 3,333, 07:54 Published in United Kingdom United Kingdom by Septuagenarian


Twas the month after Christmas and all through the house,
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.

The stuffing I'd nibbled, the turkey I'd taste
The yummies I'd eaten gone straight to my waist.

The wine and the mince pies,
The bread and the cheese
I should have just said, "No thank you, please."

So as I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt,
I couldn't believe my bottom and belly - the girth!

I said to myself, as only I can,
"You can't spend the year disguised as a man!"

So away with the last of the sour-cream dip,
Get rid of the fruitcake, every cracker and chip.

Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
'Til all the additional ounces have vanished.

I won't have a cookie, not even a lick.
Instead I'll chew on a long celery stick.

I won't have Irish coffees, or chocolates, 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's for?"

Unable to giggle, no longer a riot,
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

For those who are affected by this poem you can ring the special diet helpline on the following number: 80 80 80 028
(Ate Nothing, Ate Nothing, Ate Nothing, Nothing to Ate)