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Who-ville and My Weight Gain

Updated on February 18, 2009

How I stole Christmas from Who-ville

I stood in the mirror and looked at my gut.

I pondered how long I had been in this rut.


There was no denying the weight gain was there.

But the thought of dieting I just couldn’t bear.


I’ll start after New Year’s, I said with a grin.

And I lifted my head to hide my double chin.


I heard a loud clanging from the street down below.

I opened my window and saw quite a show.


The Whos in Seuss’s Who-ville had started a band.

A tiny conductor was waiving his hand.


The Whos were all clapping and yelling for more.

With their tiny waistlines that fit a size four.


I hated these Whos with their Christmas celebrations.

Their little bodies never have need for moderation.


They can eat all the food that their Christmas can bring.

The candy canes, chocolates and fresh whipping cream.


The roast beef, potatoes, and cornbread stuffing.

They can eat buttered rolls as if they are nothing.


They will nibble on pecan logs, pumpkin pie, too.

And then have the nerve to say they’re not through.


Finally they’ll sleep and not care what they ate.

Because Whos down in Who-ville will never gain weight.


They can eat all they want and not gain an inch.

Thinking of this made me feel like a grinch.


I gave it great thought, as my bread machine was running.

I must find a way to keep Christmas from coming.


All through the evening I pondered a plan.

How to ruin Christmas for that twig-like clan.


Finally, I remembered as I buttered my bread.

That plump little man who comes in a sled.


Yes, I’ll dress like Santa, and steal all their food.

I was in one of those overweight moods.


My eyes, how they twinkled with thoughts of the way,

That I could keep Christmas from coming that day.


I patted my hand on my little round belly,

That shook when I laughed like a Tupperware of jelly.


I found some red sweatpants, and a cardigan, too.

Some black patent boots that I thought would do.


I’ll drive my Suburban to Who-ville that day.

Those reindeer would only get in the way.


With a sack under my arm and a Twinkie held tight,

I was soon ready for the long winter’s night.


No one would suspect me, not even an elf.

And I laughed at my slyness in spite of myself.


Sugarplums dancing would have a new fate.

Thanks to my stomach, a fork, and a plate.


Once in the village, I tiptoed around,

Those tiny Who houses, not making a sound.


In silence, I stole all the food I could handle.

Even the Chex mix they left by the candle.


The seasoning on the skin of the chicken I stole,

Was so scrumptious, I found myself licking the bowl.


When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

Some brownies for Santa, and a cold mug of beer.


But then something happened that’s hard to explain.

It filled me with sorrow, caused me great pain.


I saw my reflection, as I grabbed the roast pig.

My butt was becoming three sizes too big.


“What am I doing?” I asked myself.

And I put the caramel sauce back on the shelf.


I lowered my head, and shook it in shame.

I had no legitimate reasons to claim.


For all of my actions, I had no excuse.

The Whos had done nothing to earn my abuse.


I was depressed, lonely and sad.

I wanted to lose all this weight that I had.


“It’s no use,” I cried. “I’ll never be small.

Unless I can binge, or not eat at all.”


“Not eat at all?” I heard a voice cry.

“But why, dear Santa Claus? Why, why, why, why?”


It was little Sarah Who, awake from her bed.

She had been listening to what I had said.


“Oh, Santa, you don’t want an eating disorder.

Just because your butt is not made to order.

You wouldn’t be Santa, if you were too thin.”

And she tugged on my cardigan, and gave me a grin.


I gave her a wink, and a nod of my head.

I poured her some milk, and sent her to bed.


I stood in the kitchen, and looked at my bag.

By now, it was getting too heavy to drag.


The cakes, the pies, the meats and the peas,

The donuts, the bagels with cherry cream cheese.


The cookies with icing were starting to crumble.

All of the food was one ugly mixed jumble.


Now I can’t return it, I quietly admitted.

And Who-ville will probably have me committed.


I sat in the snow, and started to cry.

I heaved in my chest, and let out a sigh.


I watched the sunrise, and waited for sounds,

Of crying and shouting from Whos all around.


None of their eating would happen today.

Thanks to me and my Suburban sleigh.


But they were not crying, just humming instead.

They didn’t mind that they weren’t being fed.


The turkey and stuffing had all disappeared.

But those Whos, well they laughed, they smiled and they cheered.


I couldn’t remember when there was a time,

I wasn’t pushing to be first in line.


To get all the pieces of brisket and fish,

Feeding my belly was my only wish.


But now as I heard all the singing below,

Voiced that carried from each head to toe.


I wondered if living was more than just food.

Then suddenly, I was in a happier mood.


Now I started singing, and felt myself grinning.

When I finally learned the true meaning of winning.


It’s all about love, and respecting yourself.

Not how many cookies you have on the shelf.


And so, my dear friend, I will tell you this,

Replace that brownie with a big kiss.


You are full of love inside.

And surely that is nothing to hide.


All rights reserved 2008 





















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      mary phillips 

      10 years ago



    • profile image


      10 years ago

      Great job Darby! I'll be checking your thighs for all those pies!


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