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:
808080028 (Ate Nothing, Ate Nothing, Ate Nothing, Nothing to Ate)
