Sunday night, I dreamed I could sing. I've had this dream before, and it's almost always the same. In it, I can hear my own voice and for the first time, every note is on key and in tune. Realizing that I'm actually singing, I become more and more confident, absolutely belting it out. And being able to sing feels just like falling in love: that incredible, dizzying sensation of the universe suddenly expanding, and you with it. Then I wake up. It's always a cruel blow to be jolted back into my tone-deaf waking self. I asked Max, who has a beautiful voice, if singing -- whether it's in the car or the shower or in front of an audience -- is something that makes you happy, all by itself. He said that yes, it is. I've always suspected as much. People even look happier while they're singing. The ability to sing is one of the gifts of the angels. I must have been standing in a different line when they handed that one out. Here's what I got instead: you know how some people can't tell the difference between dark blue and black? And they'll stand in front of the sock drawer, squinting and holding their socks up to the light? Not me. There isn't a navy blue sock on this earth that can trick me into mistaking it for black. How's that for a spectacularly useless skill? I'd much rather be able to sing. On another note, I was flamed for recently saying on-air that I don't believe in diets, that I won't diet, and that I'd much rather just go for a run than count calories. The woman who wrote accused me of being a "naturally skinny" person with no sensitivity for those who struggle with weight. Okay, I've been called a lot of things, but "naturally skinny"? Never. I'm not. I'm your standard size medium - rock-solid, baby, nothing wispy or delicate about me. I would have made one hell of a lacrosse or hockey player. And from a genetic standpoint, I'm wired to someday morph into a hairnet-wearing, meatball-making, support-hose-around-the-ankles, white-haired Italian nana. In the meantime, while I await my destiny, I eat good food; drink wine, and run three or four times a week.

"You make running sound easy and it's not" my flamer responds. She's got the second part right. Running sure isn't easy for me. I'm not a natural runner. It took me a long time to work up to a mile. Believe me, the training wasn't pretty. My first time out, a scorching, muggy day six and a half years ago, I did a quarter mile, stopped, and threw up in the street. (Here's a tip for first time runners: let your sushi digest a bit before hitting the road. You're welcome.) I stopped running through both pregnancies (total weight gain: 100 pounds), and starting up again was harder than anything physical I'd ever tried. Including childbirth. It was agony. But I like food, and I like feeling strong, and I really like knowing that, unless my attacker is much more fit than the guys I see on COPS, I've got a good shot at outrunning him. So I kept at it, lost the baby weight, sprained an ankle, ran with a brace for six weeks, and ten days ago, actually did an eight minute mile. I won't ever run that fast again, because it damn near killed me, but just knowing that I can makes me feel like the Bionic Woman. Losing weight is hard. Running is hard. But for me, dieting is harder, and weirder, and feels like a punishment for a crime I didn't commit. And now that I have daughters, I want them to have a healthy relationship with food. I want them to love their bodies. Not for the number they see on a scale, but for the strength and grace and amazing things those bodies are capable of doing. Their mommy may not be a size two, but she's a strong, healthy, size eight who can munch down a bacon cheeseburger without being tied up in knots of guilt and self-hatred. Eating + running works for me. You need to figure out what works for you. Maybe that's Weight Watchers, or Orlistat, or surgery. Maybe it means giving up soft drinks, or taking a daily walk after dinner. We're all grown-ups here. We know that apples are better for us than Cocoa Puffs, right? We know that our bodies need more movement than we can get from clicking a mouse or changing a channel, right? But hey -- thanks for the "naturally skinny" line. That was a novelty. Now, if only someone would yell at me for being extra good at math...