I have a dream.

It’s not a Martin Luther King kind of dream, but more of a Kirstie Alley kind of dream, before Jenny came along, that is.

They say this dream is achievable. I’m not so sure. It would take a lot on my part. A whole lot.


This is my dream. My Purple Dream.

“A dress?” you ask. Do I want to buy this dress? Is it an exhorbitant amount of money? No. I own this dress.

Do I want to wear this dress to some fancy event or special date? No, If I could wear it around the house I would. That is part of the problem.

This is my dress. My pretty, purple dress. It has been in my closet since 1999. It is not that I particularly love this dress or that I’m somehow sentimentally attached to it.

Sure, it’s a pretty dress, but no special memories revolve around this dress, except for one. A memory that has vanished especially after the freshmen 15, my first year of teaching high school, my husband’s love of pizza and dr. pepper floats and one baby.

The only reason this dress still hangs in my closet and not in some goodwill store is for one simple reason…

It is a size 2.

A SIZE 2!!!

And that, my friend, is a dream!

2 is such a small number. I don’t think one of my thighs is a size 2.

I look at this dress that has been in my closet since High School and I look at my post “begining of real life” body, and I wonder…How was that possible?

Then I remember…I barely ate, counted every calorie I consumed and roller bladed 4 mi. per day.

I guess I was crazy back then too!

And now…I think about doing all those things and it makes me tired.

So for now, the dream still lives and the dream dress will stay in my closet and maybe someday…maybe.

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