SC - potted meat

[grizly@mindspring.com]

THE MONTH AFTER CHRISTMAS
'Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house Nothing would
fit
me, not even a blouse.  The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste All
the holiday 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 and the rum balls,
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 I 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 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 only to chew on 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!

(original author unknown)
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