I know. I am aware that there are few things on Earth more boring than listening to someone else recant a dream they had. Well, maybe read about a dream someone else had. Maybe that.

But trust me.

This one was cringeworthy shareworthy.

It was disturbing amazing.

What you need to know before I tell you my tale is that before I went to bed, I watched the episode of “Friends” where Phoebe pretends to be one of Ben’s mothers to meet the singer Sting and score tickets from him. If you don’t know which episode I speak of, then cross out my earlier boring assumption. And insert: nothing is more boring than listening to someone else recant an episode of a television show that you have not seen.

You’re welcome.

So, anyway, it stands to reason that my dream starts with my new neighbor, David Beckham, giving me a tour of his newly built house. We go through the house. Ooooh. Aaahhh. We go outside. Oooooh. Ahhhhh. We scramble onto the roof. Oooh – wait…what? Yea, well, David wanted to show me his roof tiles. And if David Beckham wants to show you his roof tiles, you shimmy up that darn roof.

Then we get to the finale. The piece de la resistance.

Victoria Beckham’s closet.

First, it was about ten times the size of my real house. It was gleaming white with gold crown molding. There was a swimming pool in the middle of it flanked by four small columns (you will want to remember this detail as it comes in to play later). There were gleaming ball gowns that made me shield my eyes with their sparkle. Beautiful clothes were lined meticulously around all of the walls. It was beautiful. A separate room housed all of her jewelry. Just as David is about to show me this room, Victoria comes home.

She is wearing a black leather catsuit.

I, for some reason, am not.

She saunters over to us, and quick as that darn cat, she gets naked.

Yep.

Then she dives into the pool. She does these freaking flips like a dolphin. Back and forth she goes. She nimbly jumps out of the pool and proceeds to wildly dance on all four columns. She ends this display with a backflip and lands next to her husband.

Then she rubs her hands up and down her magnificent gleaming body and says, “My husband likes me fit. He likes me lean and hard.” She purrs and ends her display.

I stand there taking all of this in. And then I do something unthinkable. I am blushing just thinking about it.

I call her bluff.

I get naked.

Let’s let that process.

And I stand there. And, you would think, in a mind that could invent me being acquainted with David Beckham. A mind that allowed me to climb a roof without falling. A mind that could allow Victoria Beckham to jump out of the darn water like freaking Shamu, I could maybe change my real body to a dream body. You would think that.

But you would be wrong.

Oh no, there I stood naked, just as in real life, in front of the Beckhams. Right down to my stubby-haired legs.

Then I do a trick the Beckhams have never seen.

I don’t dive into the water. I don’t glide onto the pole. Oh no. Not that old trick.

I proceed to shimmy. I proceed to body roll. I shake what the Good Lord gave me. And the Good Lord gave me a lot. My tummy sloshed up and down. And my thighs did their special clapping trick. And every part of my body rippled. It was truly horrifying spectacular.

I stopped, but of course, the motion I had set into play with my dance caused certain body parts to continue swaying. You can’t stop a wave, people.

The Beckham’s eyes were saucers.

And then I say, “yea, well, my husband likes me soft. He likes me jiggly.”

The word “jiggly” was said in slow motion, almost like it was being said underwater. “Jiii-i-g-g-e-llll-eeee.”

Victoria could not handle my truth. She covered her mouth and ran to the bathroom.

I faced David alone.

He turned to me and in the sexiest whisper he says, “I can see what he means.”

My legs joined the rest of my body and turned to jello. Then I woke up.

But, okay, was that not worth sharing? Was that not the best dream ever?

Now, I’m going to go not exercise… You never know who might move in next door.

A girl’s gotta be prepared.

Keep her moves ready…

Oh, can’t a girl dream around here?