Comfortable Clothing

Vertigo has caused new and exciting challenges in my life recently.

Let's forget that when I have a particularly bad spell, I can't get up for fear of falling as the room moves in an endless carousel. Whatever. These are the hazards of life.

Today I'd like to talk about how vertigo challenged me in the wardrobe department. True story.

I had a test yesterday as my doctors (YES! That was plural ... insane, right?) try to figure out the root cause of this. Before the test (some fancy words abbreviated to VGN for the idiots like me) a nurse calls with the list of do's and dont's. One of the do's: "Wear comfortable clothing."

Eh? Is this woman aware that "comfortable clothing" has different meanings to different people? I know this because I called multiple people. Because, despite the fact that I had three nurses/doctors explain the procedure to me, I was still hazy on what was going to happen. I'm blaming vertigo, although there is no correlation.

Finally I called Kallee. She's most like me and she's good at justifying me in crazy whims.

"She probably meant just jeans and a shirt (as opposed to topless, apparently). Nothing like work clothes," Kallee informed me.

I had to remind her who she was talking to.

"Jeans aren't comfortable to me," I said.

And this is true. They're not. I'm at that point in my weight loss where I'm between sizes. One is too large, but the next size down is a wee bit too tight. So I wear the bigger of the two. Without a belt -- because I'm not prepared to showcase these hips and waist for public viewing yet -- which results in a lot of pant hiking from me.

In addition, we must remember that jeans ARE work attire for me.

If I'm going out in public, I wear jeans and a real bra. As opposed to home, where I wear yoga pants and a sports bra.

So I was at a cross road. Because I also had to consider the physical aspect of the test. My ENT said it would be like NASA training for someone like me.

Dilemma.

In the end, I settled on yoga pants a real bra (with a shirt, did that need to be said?), because I didn't want them mistaking me for a man like the boy at Braum's did several times the other night. (Seriously, called me "sir" TWICE. It hurt a little. I won't lie.)

And, in the end, the most physical thing I did consisted of me lying backwards as I titled me head up and to the side.

But I was comfortable.