Well, not exactly. I had Jennifer Aniston's body and my own face, minus the wrinkles and drooping that have surfaced in the past 10 years.
I was Jennifer Aniston, post-Brad Pitt. Brad had run off to re-populate New Orleans with Angelina Jolie and take pictures of her breastfeeding.
I was a free bird, an independent woman, surrounded by men wanting to pamper, coddle and worship my every fiber.
The sleepy vision started to fade. But, wait, the men were still here...a 10-year-old said I looked half dead, and a 16-year-old asked if I could make cherry turnovers.
Two additional sets of brown eyes waited for the cue that, indeed, it was time to jump off the bed and make potty in the back yard.
"Jennifer," I said to myself, "We're not in Hollywood anymore."
I glanced in the mirror to verify what I already knew. Jennifer Aniston's body was not to be found, and I made a usual Monday morning declaration to initiate a diet...again.
I'm really good at dieting. Last year alone, I started dieting 52 times.
I've dipped into several plans- Physician's Weight Loss, NutriSystem, and the Amazing Bean and Raisin Diet, among others.
I've grown accustomed to colorless foods in all forms- frozen, freeze-dried and frothed, all barely palatable, variations of the Spicy Beige Diet Plan.
I've lost and found a hundred pounds.
My best success has come with Weight Watchers. My friends and I would go to the meetings together and then proceed to breakfast.
We called ourselves "The Breakfast Club." We thought that sounded better than "Fat Ladies Eating Out Again Club."
It was about this time last year when I attended my last Weight Watcher meeting. My friends waited anxiously in line with me.
"Are you wearing your lightest clothes?"
"Oh, yes, my polyester pants and tee shirt."
"All jewelry off?"
"I didn't even bring it."
"It looks like you're not wearing makeup."
"I can't risk the additional weight."
"Have you been to the bathroom?"
"Every last ounce of fluid has been released."
"Remember to take off your shoes and bra."
A voice yelled out, "Next!"
I felt like I was approaching the great and wonderful Wizard of Oz.
"Step on the scale, please."
I flipped off my shoes and obeyed.
The leader asked, "Are you following the plan?"
"Basically," I said.
"What exactly are you eating?" she inquired.
Reluctantly, I handed her my dietary log. It listed:
Twelve dripping drumsticks,
'Leven pies and ice cream
Ten hordes of sweet tea,
Nine lady fingers,
Eight homemade cookies,
Seven Swanson dinners,
Six Reeses daily,
Five onion rings!
Four salty curds,
Three French fries,
Two Turtle bars,
And a box of chocolates just for me.
"You're gaining weight," she said.
"Yes," I replied, "but I thought I could lose weight during the holidays."
"No," she answered, "that was just a dream."