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| Topic: The month after Chrismas. (For the ladies) | |
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Edited by
uk1971
on
Sat 01/24/09 08:33 AM
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Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house,
Nothing would fit her, not even a blouse. The cookies she'd nibbled, the eggnog she'd tasted at the holiday parties had gone to her waist. When she got on the scales, there arose such a number! When she walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber). She'd remember the marvelous meals she'd prepared; The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared, The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese And the way she'd never said, "No thank you, please." As she dressed myself in her husband's old shirt And prepared once again to do battle with dirt--- She said to herself, as she 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 she like must be banished "Till all the additional ounces have vanished. She won't have a cookie--not even a lick. She'll want only to chew on a long celery stick. She won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie, She'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry. Shes' hungry, she's 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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I wonder how many can relate to that!
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