In a perfect world – and by a perfect world, I mean my perfect world, of course – I would be an inch or two taller (5’6″ is so boring), 25 to 30 pounds lighter, I would live in one of the places showcased by Desire to Inspire, and my wardrobe would be chosen by someone with great taste and plenty of money (’cause they’d be buying it for me – it’d be okay, since this is my perfect world, if that money were my own). That would be the best part. Someone else to do my clothes shopping, someone to put my outfits together. Comfortable, good-looking, classic, good quality. The clothes, too. 🙂 Tom and Lorenzo could live next door so they could send me right back inside when my personal shopper/wardrobe consultant failed and/or my lack of fashion sense reared its ugly head. And I’d have a personal chef, preferably one who is capable of making deliciously wonderful meals that look like they have too many calories (lots of cheese, cream sauces, chocolate, etc) but really hardly have any. A magic chef.
I wouldn’t need to be a princess if I had all of that. I may have just admitted that I still wish I could be a princess. (I still wear pink and purple, too. Quite often. Not usually at the same time. At least I recognize my need for wardrobe help.) The Princess Diaries speaks to me, partly because, really, how cool would it be if you woke up one morning and found out you’re a princess? And partly because DUDE. Julie Andrews is your grandmother. We would sing ALL the time.
I can think of plenty of other things that would make my world perfect, both shallow and not, but the real world is beckoning and I kinda have to pay attention to it. Damn reality.