THE MONTH AFTER CHRISTMAS
----------------------------------------------------------------------------- --- 'Twas the month after Christmas and all through the house Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse. The stuffing I'd nibbled, the turkey I'd taste The yummies I'd eaten gone straight to my waist. The wine and the mince pies, The bread and the cheese I should have just said, "No thank you, please." So as I dressed myself in my boyfriend's old shirt, I couldn't believe my bottom and belly- the girth! I said to myself, as only I can, "You can't spend the year 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 'Til all the additional ounces have vanished. I won't have a cookie, not even a lick. Instead I'll chew on a long celery stick. I won't have Irish coffees, or chocolates, or pie, I'll munch on a carrot and quietly I'll cry: "I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore - But isn't that what January's for?" Unable to giggle, no longer a riot, Happy New Year and to all a good diet! For those who are affected by this poem you can ring the special diet helpline on the following number: 808080028 (Ate Nothing, Ate Nothing, Ate Nothing, Nothing to Ate)! Jeanette Fischer, Western Cape, South Africa To unsubscribe send email to [EMAIL PROTECTED] containing the line: unsubscribe lace-chat [EMAIL PROTECTED] For help, write to [EMAIL PROTECTED]
