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 latkas 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!