Shopping - feh.

This is one area where I fail to meet the feminine stereotype: I do not, in general, look forward to shopping as entertainment.

Oh, sometimes, I do enjoy the experience; in good company, it can even be lots of fun. But that's more a reflection of my pleasure of the company than the process. In general I shop because I have to; and my mental approach to the prospect ranges from acceptance of the need (we do have to eat, after all) to plain detestation.

This last is particularly true when applied to clothes shopping.

Don't get me wrong-- I like new clothes. I simply find that I frequently loathe the process of acquiring them. Jeans aren't so bad-- I have found a store which carries a fit that suits me, so I can walk in, pick the right size (8 Long, Dad-- Jan gets the smaller stuff) off the shelf, and head for the register. But otherwise, the effort to find something new, and then hoping it fits-- squirming in and out of lots of clothes that don't, in order to find one or two items that do-- is both frustrating and exhausting. Blouses that don't button properly, sleeves that are too short, tops and skirts that look lovely on the rack, but then become misshapen and silly when I get into them. . . no, thank you. And underwear is the absolute worst. I would love to find some place that offered items in my size, that (a) was not really outrageously priced for a scant handful of fabric and a couple of hook-and-eye closures; and (b) did not look like something that belonged in my grandmother's dresser drawer. In a word, ew.

There's got to be a better way.