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    Peggy
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    Twas The Month After Christmas

    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.
    All 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 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 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!

    Author Unknown

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