As I was taking out the trash this evening I realized I suffer from a disorder I've decided to call McClaneatosis. (Not to be confused with McLeanitis which involves an American Pie earworm. That's actually called ChevyLevee Disease.)
No, McClaneatosis is the irrational fear that you're somehow under-dressed for some out-of-the-blue disaster. See, I was wearing slippers and a sweater, and it's about 18 degrees out. "What if there's a plane crash next door? Or a zombie attack? I'll freeze to death! Or at least lose a toe to frost bite! Never mind the fact that my shoes and coat are just 20 steps away. I'm just not prepared! Hell, I don't even have a dressing gown and a towel!"
At least I'm no longer concerned with the possibility of having to save the day in a strappy t-shirt or even topless. After 34 years I am finally at a weight/size that I am comfortable with taking my shirt off.
At least from the front.
From the back I look like I was shot with paintballs full of Rogaine.
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