I drop first, so I don't shop
Thanks to the mystery syndrome, I no longer fit into any of my clothing. Nothing. My jammies fall off me. My jeans have so much extra room I could smuggle something in them. Even my sweats are too big.
I know many people in America would love to have that problem, but the one thing it signifies to me is this: I must go shopping. And oh, how I hate to shop. Bookstores and music stores notwithstanding, the world of retail bores and annoys me. I hate the trying on of clothing. I especially hate how women's clothing is so ridiculously sized compared to men's. Men's clothing, with great logicality, goes by actual measurements. If you know your neck/arm measurement, you can buy a shirt. If you know your waist and inseam, you can buy pants. You might not even have to try things on.
With women's clothing it's a huge crap shoot. Am I a small or medium? A regular or a short? A 10 or a 12? And if I'm a 10 in this line, am I also a 10 in that line? Oh, no, wait, according to this other manufacturer I'm an 8. Everything must be tried on.
I've put off shopping for quite a while now. Firstly because I hate it and secondly because lately I've been too sick to do much of anything except hang around the house all day and envy the cat. But it's gotten to the point where my jeans are riding so low I look like a wanna-be gangsta rapper.
There are a lot of things I'm looking forward to doing when (if?) I get better, but shopping is not high on the list. But, alas, it's probably also the first thing I have to take care of.