good-lace's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- T'was the Month after Xmas T'was the month after Christmas, and all through the house, nothing would fit me, not even a blouse. The cookies I nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste, had gone and settled in on my waist. When I got on the scales there arose such a number! I need a walk! (More like a lumber.) I remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared; the gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared. The cakes and the pies, the bread and the cheese, and the way I 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 the fruit cake, every cracker and chip. Every last bit of food that I like must now be banished until the ounces I gained have been vanished. I won't have a cookie, not even a lick, I'll drink my water and chew on celery sticks. I won't have hot biscuits, or cornbread or pie, I'll munch on my carrots and quitely cry. Unable to giggle, no longer a riot Happy New Year to all, and to all a good diet. 6:30 p.m. - 2002-12-26 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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