‘Twas 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!

One evening, in a busy lounge in the deep south, a reindeer walked in the door, bellied up to the bar and ordered a martini. Without batting an eye, the bartender mixed and poured the drink, set it in front of the reindeer, and accepted the twenty-dollar bill from the reindeer’s hoof.

As he handed the reindeer some coins in change, he said, “You know, I think you’re the first reindeer I’ve ever seen in here.”

The reindeer looked hard at the hoofful of change and said, “Hmmmpf. Let me tell you something, buddy. At these prices, I’m the last reindeer you’ll see in here.”