Salute to the Christmas bulge

Like many of you, I resolve every January to drop some weight. For me, it’s actually not weight, so much as waistline. I just want to fit into my trousers again. I have taken to wearing my shirts untucked. But as I age, my resolve gets less and less.

Some years ago, I found, in a publication called Canada Now, a diet poem by a Calgary lady named Carol Burnside. I thought you might like it and I thank Burnside for allowing me to use it here.

My stretchy slacks are stretched to the max, old Christmas did me in

And caused my thighs to supersize, much to my chagrin,

And, oh my dear, look at that rear, spread out all about,

There’s no way, pre-holiday, I’ve ever been this stout.

If I’d been wise, my portion size would have been much less,

Would not have had that second plate, or even third, I guess,

No use to brood, I ate the food, each morsel down my throat,

No, what you see is all of me, set sail, see if I float.

I’ll now begin reclaiming this, with Diet Fifty-four,

Self sacrifice, though never nice, has made these rounds before,

So, one more try, no alibi, my diet I restart,

Farewell to pies and salty fries and extras, a la carte.

Good luck to you in your battle of the bulge.

Fred Trainor is a retired broadcaster living in Okanagan Falls. Email: fredtrainor@shaw.ca