Was the month after Christmas and all through the house, nothing would fit her, not even a blouse.
The stuffing she'd nibbled, the turkey she'd taste, the yumminess she'd eaten had gone straight to her waist.
The wine and the mince pies, the bread and the cheese..... she should have just said, "no thank you, please." ...
So as she dressed herself in her husbands old shirt, she couldn't believe he............r bottom and belly -...... the...... gi......rth!
She said to herself, as only she 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 she likes must be banished 'til all the additional ounces have vanished.
She won't have a cookie, not even a lick, instead she'll chew on a long celery stick.
She won't have Irish coffees, or chocolates, or pie..... she'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's for?"
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot,
Happy New Year to all 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)
The stuffing she'd nibbled, the turkey she'd taste, the yumminess she'd eaten had gone straight to her waist.
The wine and the mince pies, the bread and the cheese..... she should have just said, "no thank you, please." ...
So as she dressed herself in her husbands old shirt, she couldn't believe he............r bottom and belly -...... the...... gi......rth!
She said to herself, as only she 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 she likes must be banished 'til all the additional ounces have vanished.
She won't have a cookie, not even a lick, instead she'll chew on a long celery stick.
She won't have Irish coffees, or chocolates, or pie..... she'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's for?"
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot,
Happy New Year to all 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)
