Post-Holiday Weight Woes

'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 at 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 fruitcake, 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 cornbread, 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!