The Month After Chanukah

‘Twas the month after Chanukah,
and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I’d nibble, the latkes I’d taste
At Chanukah 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 or the egg creams, 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 only I can
"You can’t spend the winter disguised as a man!"

So—away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of all chocolate, each 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 to chew only 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!

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